I saw a mocking bird upon a tree, alone, chirping a tune the skill of imitation bore he as it sang amid the gloom. Children played in the fields adults conversed freely, but of the bird in the broken still faces thought him silly. O beautiful composer of the skies your deep music is superb, but can never be fully realized the song of a mocking bird.
She was not a virgin But with beauty, she did reign She was already married But she arose to be adored She was a widow Her beauty and pride did glow Borne already two children But with second love, she
I disappeared into the looking a birdsong I had stepped off the brick path and was kneeling in the dirt circumscribed in time and space kindness burning indifferent to my bliss the night full of clouds in the morning the