You are to me a fallen oak tree,whose limbs are turned and bent.A soul who reached so high to be freebut the wind was harsh and down you were sent.Those stars were your guiding beams,softly stitched doll whose gift was a song,shaken so hard you fell apart at the seams,broken. Singing has never felt so wrong.You can't fathom why the caged bird sings,as those bars came down they made one persistent note,voice aching while you remember the joy it brings,as your eyes watch your feathers float.No more music all fallen leaves,a bird who barley knows how to breathe.