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The
morning the air is filled with the aroma of Cedar trees and last
night's rain
the sky still full of marshmallow clouds which rise up in wondrous
display
clouds so high they look like they could touch heaven itself
still, no one comes out to see
no one steps out of their house or their car
no one goes by foot anymore
so just an old poet walks around these woods
he takes his time since it is the one thing he has plenty of
a lone Mockingbird shadows him
curious as to what a man is doing here in his domain
The old poet and the Mockingbird do have things in common
both sing out of the same hymn book
the poet writes words but the Mockingbird sings the high notes
both are artists of a sort
Some would say the mockingbird is the better of the two
the bird sings so exuberantly
with so much joy in its voice
Both the bird and the old man praise the morning
but without question
the Mockingbird is the better poet.
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