The Poetry of an Avid Bookworm

Don't Shoot

You have some nerve, aiming at

A Mockingbird's breast;

He has done nothing but sing for you.

Shoot that Blue Jay yonder,

Whiskey on his tongue,

Malice in every wing-beating...

He preys on his rival's eggs,

Talons like switchblades,

Vulgar call.

I pray again: Don't shoot the Mockingbird.

One song holds timeless Treasures,

And if you look from his view, you may think twice.

Look from the Crow's view, too,

For even her rude caw comes from a troubling time;

This Crow is more than meets the eye.

The Cuckoo also deserves a second glance

Because maybe we're the ones that are crazy,

And he's the one who understands.

This flowering town is a nest for all kinds,

Especially the seasonal Hummingbird,

His tongue as quick as his wings.

Don't kill a Mockingbird, who has a song and no wrongs.

To Kill a Mockingbird

Is to kill Good itself.

While we are black or white,

They are both white and black.