Top of the tree

sees all around

perched and singing

the mockingbird

mocks every other

bird but itself.

It has no real

identity, just

those borrowed

from others.

It’s a shape-

shifting, super-

split pesonality.

You never know

whether it’s the

real thing

or a great imitation

from the sound

of its voice.

But its rapid-

fire presentation

usually gives it away.

Categories: nature, Poetry, Uncategorized, writing | Leave a comment

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