The Bluebird's Wings

Well, I'm not sure where this poem came from, but I wrote this on poverty when I was finalizing my children's book for submittal.  I am not trained in writing poetry, so if you have any advice, I'd appreciate any guidance!

The Bluebird's Wings 

The morning finds the tender limbs, 
As the dew drips from their leaves. 
And the early calls of birds nearby
Awaken the boyish dreams.

Oh, how he wishes he could soar 
Into the sky and rising sun.
Oh, how he wishes he could gaze 
Upon a land so vast to run.

But he cannot, 
For he is an unfortunate
From love
And from means.
He is stuck in the perpetual cycle 
Of want vs. need.

The old oak creaks a heavy growl
As its roots extend their reach.
But the whole of its core, so solid and strong
Steadies the wealth it frees.

Oh, how he wishes he could sway
With his thoughts and youthful seeds.
Oh, how he wishes he could break
Into a life so hard to lead.

But he cannot
For he is an unfortunate
From love
And from means
He is stuck in the perpetual cycle
Of want vs. need.

The bluebird preens its iridescent wings
In time with the demands of the wind.
Persuading the oak to change its course
And bleed for humanity's sins.

Oh, how this alters the road afar
To hope and embodied desire.
Oh, how this breeds a rich beyond
Into a dream so filled with fire.

And he can, 
For he was an unfortunate
From love
And from means.
Who is free from the perpetual cycle 
Of want vs. need.

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