Author Wilfrid Wilson Gibson A WILD bird filled the morning air With dewy-hearted song; I took it in a golden snare Of meshes close and strong. But where is now the song I heard? For all my cunning art, I who would house a singing bird Have caged a broken heart. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 5 (3 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments