Author Hazel Hall My spirit is a captive bird That beats against its cage all day, Until its winging strength is whirred Vainly away. My spirit learns its impotence Only when night has blurred its bars. Wings seem a strange impertinence Before the stars. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments