Which?

On breezy days in April,
I’m restless in my cage.
I long to fly among the trees;
Feel sunshine on my wings.

On gloomy days in April,
My refuge is my cage.
The cold rain falls against the trees;
Hawks balance on their wings.

On every day in April,
I love—no, hate—my cage!
Escape to live free in the trees?
Or let them clip my wings?

Jary