The ease and simple grace

Of this man who’s died

Cannot be denied.

His echoing presence

Still sings in my head

Still sings in my heart

We’re never alone, never apart,

Like the mocking bird’s song:

These mimus polyglottos,

Move us along, their song

Speaks of a hidden art,

Which creates and recreates

Moments that survive

From that time when we were alive.

Oh! it’s a sin to kill a mocking bird

And it’s a sin to mock the dead:

Like something found, not buried

Like something felt, not said.