Among a parcel of it’s beautiful fellows,
A Forest filled with all things unique and special,
The Mockingbird was always mimicking their sounds.
A tweet, a croak,
A chirp, a laugh,
A faultless tune that belonged to another,
From Sunrise to Sunset,
A constant Sprite, that fought it’s nemisis Sadness alone
No tune of it’s own,
No voice of it’s own
At times annoying those that it copies.
One always sure to hear one’s own voice when old Mockingbird was there.
Then one day,
The sun rose to silence,
The wind blew without tune,
The Forest had lost it’s joy,
As they looked and saw Mockingbird’s nemesis Sadness, standing over it’s body.
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