Sunlight-Colored Roses

The birdcage was like a little temple, with smooth white lines and a domed roof.
The birdcage was like a prison with confining metal bars.
The birdcage was fashioned like a small white palace.
The birdcage was like a white eggshell, the yellow canary at its center.
Like a white moon, the little birdcage illuminated the vast space of the room with its cheer.

The birdcage was an asylum, and the canary its sole inmate.
The birdcage was a sultan’s palace, and the canary its pasha.
The birdcage was a harem, and the small canary its pleasure-giver.
The birdcage was a white church in vast space, and its singing canary a preacher of glad tidings.
The birdcage was a prison in which its inmate served in solitary confinement.

The birdcage hung from a hook like an ivy planter.
The birdcage hung suspended like a little white moon in the sky.
Like a white temple of ancient Atlantis, the birdcage hung suspended in the air.
The birdcage hung carelessly from its metal rod like a bucket of water from the hands of the sorcerer’s apprentice.
The birdcage hung like a golden apple from the branch of a sparse tree which concentrated all of itself into one good thing.

The birdcage, hanging from its hook, was a white planet floating in vast aether.
The birdcage, hanging from a hook, was a milk jar suspended by its metal prongs.
The birdcage, hanging from its hook, was a camp lantern in the hands of a traveler.
The birdcage, hung perilously, was a coconut on a palm in a hurricane.
The birdcage, hanging, was an awkwardly truncated conversation.