Spenser

The bird squawks loudly on his lonely perch
Unhumaned and unhappy in that state.
It is the pulpit of his empty church,
From which he enters into self-debate
Of whether man is worthy of himself,
And if the parrot models off the man;
Whether he has been stuck up on a shelf
Where no one thinks to reach for him - or can;
And other great dilemmas - most of all
Whether his human will return to him.
In plaintive song he sermons forth a call
Which but returns with a diminished vim.
Like him, I chirp away my useless words
For loneliness is not only in birds.