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♫