It is coming.

     The small bird tucks its wings close to its fragile body

     Swirling around and around in its cage.

     She is going up, up, up,

     Higher than she's ever been before,

     And she is so afraid.

     Her tiny heart is pounding

     And she can hear it in her veins.

     But she is...

     almost....

      there....

      And suddenly, she is through!

      She has broken through the glass ceiling!

      The little bird is shaking, shaking from the effort.

     She is cut from the glass,

     A little battered

     A little bruised

     But free.

     Some of her has been left behind in the cage

     But the regret is fleeting

     And the warmth of the sunshine

     Melts away

     All the sadness

     It took to get there.