Friday, April 22, 2011

Mockingbird, Cry

There is a silence in the staid night,
And a mockingbird calls by the shining moon
His cry is the loneliness of black-dyed skies
Glad with the cosmos' fair-flung boon.
White wings lift like storks in the painted shade
Leaves whisper thanks as they flutter down,
Through the still shadow, magnolias hush:
One single feather drifts onto the ground.

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