The Watchful eye

This is a poem about my parents and the junior cert.

The Watchful eye

I flap my wings,
Swoop, dive, fly,
But always known,
To the watchful eye,

The trigger is pulled,
A blow to my chest,
The wound is fatal,
Ill soon be at rest,

Far from the clouds,
And swirling breeze,
These chains that bind me,
Where are the keys?

There they are,
Just overhead,
Till summer comes,
And berries scarlet red.