It is morning, as declared by my aging br feathered friend from his cage. br A wild bird echoes back, and a duet ensues br of chirps and tunes of differing dialects br and breeds. br br How easy to assume his caged song br is a lament: a cry of longing br to the wild, to the nature he knows not. br br Truth be told, I suspect the reverse- br a mocking of the wild br seeking one spare meal br and the refuge enjoyed br by my sad, sad companion, br secretly revelling in the luxury br of gilded domestication.