Mockingbird

a sad little mocking bird

trills a song for its mate

in the lone hours of mid night

on the wrought-iron gate

and the wind wails duets

with the ghosts in the trees

and they seem to be saying

that the bird it is me

as my memory wanders

 to those days long ago

and I sigh as I wonder

at the winter and snow

summer flew promptly

 in the blink of an eye

and youth goes just same

without chance for goodbye

Like love everlasting

frays quickly and ends

Only those good with needles

can make the amends

While I sigh as I wonder

at my age and the snow

while my memory wanders

 to days long ago

a sad little mockingbird

sits on the gate

And it sings a sad song

for its lost little mate.