One pleasant summer day,
Swinging gently in the window,
My canary began to sing,
Softly at first,
Testing his voice against zephyr and sun.
And then he fairly burst
As trill followed warble
And chirp preceded roll.
His yellow-feathered throat
Swelled and shook with joyous tones.
Then suddenly he stopped.
He cocked his head left, then right.
From tall trees and power lines
Came echoing songs
Rising and falling around him.
The mockingbirds continued singing
Far into the night,
Spreading canary music
To every block in the city.
They did not even care that their tiny mentor
Had long since been taken back inside,
And covered with a cloth.
A mentor remains an icon to any of the disciples whom had been taught to express innate talents to show the beauty of life. Beatiful poem, top mark madam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
4 hands are clapping.... three thumbs up... nice poem!