I made a thing. I held it dear
I cherished it for half a year
I furnished it with wings I’d dreamed
I burnished it until it gleamed
I whispered gentle loving words
And whistled tunes I’d learned from birds
I filled it with my heart’s delight
And, gradually, it took to flight
It hovered round me night and day

I wish it could have stayed that way
But wings so lovely can’t stay furled
It yearned to fly out in the world

Oh, the world so needed this thing
Beauty, when seen, makes hard hearts sing

Before a thing may first fly free
It must be passed by committee
They who decide if it conforms
To their strict societal norms

Committee took my thing apart
Measured inside, poked at its heart
Weighed it once, and found it wanting
Pronounced it slightly disappointing
They built it back, but not quite right
They painted it all over white
They only let it have one wing
They said it was too small to sing
And then, they said, it just might do
They authorised it to pass through

They said, “It’s fixed” and let it go
And it will try to fly, I know
Although it’s changed beyond repair
I wonder, maybe, inside there
Dare I hope that it protected
Part of its heart undissected?

Why, oh why, is it arranged
That perfect things must first be changed
Be processed, torn, ripped asunder
Stripped of hope, deprived of wonder
By smaller minds who just can’t see
How lovely different things can be