The parrot could fly like a paint pot.
He just opened his wings and flew.
Over the grass and against the sky
was the red and the yellow and blue.
You could never describe
in a million words,
the amazing, incredible
colour of birds.
When he was caught, he sat in his cage,
watching, as curiously,
sparrows hopped in and sparrows hopped out,
dust-coloured, little and free.
And the reason he’s caged:
the irony why?
He had painted his colours
across the sky.