On The Mocking Bird

Hear! I have woken up to chattering birds,
Excited and tweeting for the new sun!

The mockingbird plays his catalogue of songs,
a history in sound of the time and places visited, and the fellow creatures met. As they complete the section of one song, they slide so sweetly into a new call. Perhaps feeling anxious once it approaches the limit of its proficiency of that part, it proceeds to play a section of another call it has memorized, as a polyglot who boasts the fluency of several languages, yet shows to be fluent in those languages at only an intermediate level. Or perhaps it has taken a fondness to a portion of a song which has delivered, upon every rehearsal of the notes, a savoring of the original pleasure it received. Or perhaps, and this be the most impressive, it changes its song to a tune complimentary to its very being, the whole of its aural composition to be a reflection, or, in the more moving impressions, the fluctuating voice of a sincere feeling expanding and diminishing in its natural development.