The Mockingbird
Oh how you cantilate and croon,
On pilfered beams from Mr Moon,
Quite dapper, your tuxedo tails,
Yet stolen, too, your every tune.
It's not through lack of expertise,
Or dimming strains of vocal ease,
That you're persuaded to perfect
All other's songs in grand reprise.
Such voice to set your dame afire,
The chorale king without his choir,
There inside your feathered breast,
A heart that thrums with lilt desire.
Those jealous rivals hush to hear it,
Your damsel heartens to be near it,
The grandest copycat thus known -
Of sharp attire ... and dulcet spirit.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Pick A Title, Vol 6 - Personification" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
(I chose title number four, The Mockingbird)
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