There is a mockingbird just out my door
who sings at midnight—
not a moment before.
This feathered being’s high pitched refrain
sings lullabies to me as I lie awake in pain.
He sings to me as if to say,
“Why sleep now when you can sing anyway?
Who needs nightmares that do scare
when one has lofty day dreams for which to care?”
He keeps on singing through the night
as the clock spins from left to right—
right past one, two, three, and four—
maybe even a few hours more!
Sometimes the night owl is also the early bird,
happily awake until hours absurd.
Chasing after tunes instead of worms,
he sings his happy, two-note song,
practicing for the daily sing along.
He sings his way until the morning,
waiting for all his friends to join in.
Accompanying the sunrise every morn
is a giant chorus of melody,
as one by one their voices take flight,
joining the bird who solos all through the night,
giving score to the painting of the light.