Mockingbird
Withdrawn, it unfolds
to another
voice, like that
of a child lost in the wind.
Or, lonely, it rises from its place
and sings, only
to return and start again.
The pleasure we accept derives from
the knowledge that we are not alone.
Each morning we walk out and sit
by the stones, hoping to observe some
new patterns in his life. What we
see is an answer. What we hear is no song.
* * *
“Mockingbird” made its first appearance here in January 2015. It was written
in the 1980s, probably around 1987-1989.
O at the Edges 
This reminds me to take comfort in all discoveries. Thank you Rob
LikeLiked by 1 person
We often disregard or forget to include the “little things,” which seem, in the end, to be not so little after all.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sort of achingly lonely, yet comforting at the same time. Beautiful.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Amy. Birds evoke so much!
LikeLike
Robert,
A delight to drink morning tea, and read Mockingbird this morning.
elaine
LikeLiked by 1 person
So pleased to hear this, Elaine. Thank you.
LikeLike
Beautifully written! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Brenda!
LikeLike
So good to know we’re not alone. Thoughtful as always Bob.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, it is!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reading this is calming and infuses me with mindful gratitude.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Diana.
LikeLiked by 1 person
masterful melancholy
LikeLike
brilliant, friend.
Peace ✌
LikeLike
Last line connects with me… lovely!
LikeLike
Lovely … the final line really opens it up … true and not true, like Schrodinger’s cat!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Dave!
LikeLiked by 1 person