Mockingbird

He sat and sang while I listened in awe
Amazed by the vastness of his repertoire
In his gray pinstriped tuxedo singing
He set the bells of morning ringing

The sun not limiting his imitative skill;
From darkness; nightingale and whippoorwill
So many songs and he knew them all;
The wren, the finch and the cardinal

Some of the tunes were bright and gay
Echoing the brilliant light of day
While others were mournful, sad and dark
From swallow’s trill to lilting lark

The shrill piercing cry of red tailed hawk
Was followed by a seagull’s squawk
And to tell each man should spread his song
He threw in a doorbell and a telephone

I was so excited that I laughed with glee
At the myriad of songs he sang for me
A kinship I found in each note that I heard
For the poet is nothing if not mockingbird