The Mocking Bird


The birds are in the tree tops,
The birds are in the fields.
There’s a bird who sits upon my window sill.
I ask him why he’s not singing in the treetops,
Why he’s not dancing in the fields.
I asked why he sits upon my window sill.
He cocked his head and listened,
Perhaps it’s I who lost a screw;
For I heard him chirp this little tune:
Why are you in the kitchen,
Playing with my food?
Why do you turn it into white and sticky goo?
Then he flew off to the tree tops
He flew off to the fields;
As I sat and pondered inside the Baker’s Mill

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem



This Poems Story

My Brother is a bakery owner @ Baker Miller in Chicago. So this was for him. http://www.bakermillerchicago.com/