Image for the poem mockingbird song

mockingbird song

To kill a mockingbird is to destroy innocence—innocence
injured or ruined through contact with evil.

sincere, she sings her mocking song,      
          perched on a wayward branch;
                    songs that to other birds belong
                              she copyrights carte blanche.
                                        orchestral suites of flutes and strings
                                                  and horns and piccolos:
                                                            the music this imposter brings,
                                                                      with lulls and crescendos.
                                                                                sometimes, she is a parakeet;
                                                                      at other times, a thrush,
                                                            a pigeon, or a dove, complete
                                                  with airs of fervent blush.
                                        i cannot trust a mockingbird,
                              however suave her lays;
                    may her pretenses be interred      
          with all her candied sways.      
i'd rather be a john-tu-whit
          confined to one pale song,
                    than two hundred false airs commit,
                              when none to me belong.
                                        lest i should mock the gentle dove
                                                  that does no harmless harm,
                                                            let me not take for granted love
                                                                      or innocence or charm.
                                                            may all my days upon this earth
                                                  be naught but genuine,
                                        that i respect the poor man's worth,
                              nor in his place recline.
© Copyright 2021 July 24
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Written by cabcool
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