The little girl has never spoken
Not even a single word
Her voice since birth was broken
A sentence was never heard

She liked to watch the birds each day
As they played in the summer breeze
They'd always take her breath away
As she watched them in the trees

The mocking bird, her bird of choice
Would make her smile appear
She loved to hear his magical voice
Each time that he came near

And though her voice was far away
She'd whistle for his reply
She'd listen to the songs he'd play
Until he said goodbye

He made her feel like she could speak
A language they both understood
And though they used their own technique
They spoke every chance they could

A little girl and her mocking bird
Has quite the conversation
They talk all day without a word
Through the gift of imitation

I was going to write a sad poem
But my nephew shot himself
So I'll guess I'll wait 'til later
And I put it on the shelf

I finally took it down today
But before I started to write
I got a call from a friend of mine
His daughter died last night

So on the shelf it went once more
To wait 'til grief has passed
Again I took the paper down
To write my sorrow at last

But as my muse began to cry
A knock came at my door
A neighbor came to me in tears
Her husband killed in the war

I never wrote that sad poem
It sits upon the shelf
Sadness needs no poet at all
It somehow writes itself

I didn't know the moon could cry
But I saw it with my own eyes
It looked like rain the day you died
As tears fell from the skies

Some people said it was only rain
But I knew the moon was sad
It rose each night to stare at you
'Til the jealous stars got mad

These days it doesn't shine as bright
As it did for you back then
Sometimes it won't come out at night
Its sorrow keeps it in

The sun shines a little longer now
To cover for the moon
Some people say it's longer days
But it's because you left too soon

I saw the moon the other night
Just before the rain
But we know it wasn't rain at all
It's tears from all its pain