questions for the tiny bird

Tiny ceramic bird, frozen in midair. Are you doomed to spend eternity seeking a flower you will never see? Spiderwebs cover your body as you dangle from a wire, staring at a pole of wood, cracks forming with time. There is a splash of orange on your throat, was it once bloodred? The emeralds that adorn your feathers will fade with time as well. In the background, do you see a bird twenty times your size? He is painted on the wall, proud as a bird could be. Your wings are trapped and so are you, do you yearn to fly? Or are you content to watch the children happily walking by? Pray that you are not killed for the crime of being small. Ask that you are not crushed for the crime of having no call. The bark is rough, but you are not, smooth as green porcelain. Such fragility you hold reverent, but somehow you stand still. Can you speak or only watch, can you fly or only hang, can you dream or only think? Oh little bird on the pole, green thing next to brown, what think you of the world you live in, how feel you of dreams? Have you ever looked up at the sky so darling blue and wondered what it would be like to soar? Have you ever wondered if the ocean, wine-dark, was anything like the sky? Tell me, tiny ceramic bird, have you ever wished to meet your kinsmen, hummingbirds like you, in sipping sweet delectable nectar likened to ambrosia, the drink of the gods so that you could flit and flee together in sweet paradise?