He stretched his wings, then drank his fill.
From the earthen saucer on the stand.
I looked at him, with a joyous thrill,
He was just four feet, from my right hand.
Then he flew up, into the big elm,
So delicate, and yet so strong.
Up in the tree, back in his realm,
He serenaded me with song.
And his eyes kind of twinkled,
As he sang for me.
A soft warbly tinkle,
From soul that was free
He was a baby mockingbird,
A fledgeling of the spring.
He'll never speak an angry word,
All he will ever do is sing.
There are so many, up in my trees,
That I am truly blessed.
Just like the youngster, that sang for me,
Here they live, and sing, and rest.
4/20/13 Alton Texasm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem