The Mocking Bird

The morning sun was rising,
Above the eastern hill
And casting glaring sunbeams
Upon our window sill.

We were lingering at the table
Absorbed loquaciously,
When all bird land it seemed
Broke out in symphony.

We tiptoed to the window
And peered all around,
We saw an ash-brown bird
A hopping on the ground.

It flew upon a fence post,
And much to our surprise,
He sang melodious music
Before our very eyes.

He copied every song bird
As if in mockery,
Then flew away most suddenly
Down to the walnut tree.

I wish that he would come again
And sing his song once more,
To shame the chirping sparrows
That flutter round our door.

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