The birds outside my window,
Spinning, wheeling, soaring.
Dipping gliding, flying,
Silhouetted against the sky,
A rainbow of dark hues.
Yet illuminated by the sun.

The birds outside my window,
Free and flying free.
Never mind the weather
Room for flying feather
Found against a Caribbean sky
Exists, waiting, for you.

The birds outside my window,
Call, with voices shrill and varied;
shrieking, crying, screaming,
Singing, laughing, they all
Seem to be mocking.
Mocking me.

The birds outside my window,
Beg all who are aware to
Come and join them.
"There is wind below our wings and
Sun above our heads and
Space enough for a thousand more!"

Me, on the other side of that window.
How could I ever go and join them?
I have no wings, no weightless body.
I know not their every dialect.
Should I leap off this building,
I would surely die, not fly away.
All I am is earthbound.

The birds outside my window...
Growing faint in the cerulean distance,
Their cries all too faint to hear.
Sadly they depart, hearts and wing-beats heavy.
The sky swallows them whole,
Leaving me, no birds outside my window, alone.