The mocking bird flies down
From within the tops of the trees
Her children they cry as she searches for food
She returns with a grasshopper in beak
Don't ever harm a mocking bird
My Grandfather he would say
They practice their songs for the Angels to sing
They get it right this way
I never understood
Though I listened the best I could
Old age is golden and now that I'm older
I understand now like I should
I tell my own children
That I know that it is so
One caught mocking bird
It must be let go
Among the heavens they fly
They practice their songs, they must get it right
For among the Angels they sing
My Grandfather knew so many things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem