Why does the mockingbird sing?
Why does she lift her head to die?
Is it the color of her wings?
Or is it the passion in her cry?
Her voice, which sings herself to sleep at night,
Will never fade nor never will her might.
Oh how high she soars and flies
Up far beyond, as if she’s not afraid to die.
Though others mock the mockingbird
As she sweeps throughout the streets.
With cruel remarks like poison darts
Which pierce her feathered feet.
Alone she flies, she wonders why
They throw those darts her way.
For had she wronged the ones who hate
Or did they loath her darken traits?
Beauty is never loved and often cherished less.
The hateful jealous ones bring down the very best.
With her wings ruffled, yet darker than the rest,
She sits and sings her medley far beyond her nest.
They try to break her down and shatter her within
They lock her out, push her down, and never let her in.
She spreads her wings as she squeaks and squalls to all
So that all may here, and listen, perched above the wall.
For all who cares to listen
Will surely be appalled,
To why she sings her song
When many want her gone
All she wants is to be free, to fly and feel relief
To sing her song, and go along, without a bit of grief