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I came on the mockingbird out in the tree
At the edge of the yard at the ranch,
Sitting in rapt contemplation alone
on a soft-rocking mid-level branch.
And he didn't see as I crept up below
To find what it was that absorbed the bird so.
We two were acquainted, (you couldn't say "friends")
From the concerts he gave time to time.
He had dandy melodic interpretive skill,
Though his songs were delinquent in rhyme.
He was quite a showman, with feathers and flare,
For accent he sometimes hopped up in the air!
I think I had caught him composing a song,
Or at work on some staging detail,
And he only moved to avoid falling off,
An occasional twitch of his tail,
An avian Beethoven sitting to brood,
Lost in the throes of the creative mood.
But then he saw me, and left in a huff
For the black walnut tree down the street,
Expressing his ire and artistic contempt
With a comment he dropped at my feet.
A crass mortal repaid for intrusion
on a genius in fertile seclusion.