It isn’t much I’ve seen, <br />just a couple sunsets <br />in the great grand <br />scheme of things. <br />Tonight I ask <br />where has the moon <br />gone off too. <br /> <br />It isn’t much I’ve heard, <br />just a city writing songs <br />on cracked apartment buildings; <br />it’s metal bow and streets of violins. <br />Tonight I ask <br />why have the birds <br />not returned for spring. <br /> <br />It isn’t much I’ve felt, <br />not shame for anything I’ve done <br />not guilt for anything I’ve said. <br />It’s bitter cold outside <br />there is a mockingbird <br />at my window blowing smoke.<br /><br />Ben Paynter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mockingbird-it-isn-t/
