wee small hours of the morning        
call to me with the voice of
the Mockingbird’s yearning
calling out lyrics and notes
not his own but achingly
captured in his own throat
darkness hiding winged form
musical song simply rising
listen to quell the storm
awaken your soul come with me
symphony, sonnet now mine
taken to sing so lovingly
there he is with stolen song
trilling with great pleasure
beckoning me to sing along
creating light in the night sky
patterned prism colors rising
rapt audience of one sublime
longing for a song of his own
to widen the net of listeners
as though his voice has flown
but he knows only other’s muse
so claim them he does one by one
singing again without any ruse
wee small hours of the morning
call to me with the voice of
the Mockingbird’s yearning
© June 2012
Renee Espriu
During my visit here in sunny Southern California I was awakened to the sound of this beautiful creature’s song like no other. The Mocking Bird has no song of his own but when he sings all the songs of all the other birds it is as though a resonate sound of an orchestra has filled the morning hours.
reneejustturtleflight.com 