SYMPHONY NO. FIVE, THIRD MOVEMENT

Misses Mockingbird, your song

Sways the trees and carries the wind,

Teases the grass and flounders the flowers.

Your chirp and tweet twitter in 

Harmony with the gleeful children

On the swinging teeter-totter.

The morning and evening air,

Whether by spring or by winter,

Echo your sound melodies that 

Wake a man from his restless sleep.

Your perfect pitch flutters your wings,

Proclaiming to me, a young fawn,

Of your beautiful, upright seat.

I hear your voice, I heed your call,

But why now and why here,

Must your jingle chatter resound

In orchestrated upheaval to my ears?

How often would our friends profit,

In awe from your lofty whisper.

They are guests to your concert,

Backup vocals to your song.

And I, the lonesome deer,

Am only a half note rest in your

Movement so long.