The ease and simple grace
Of this man who’s died
Cannot be lied about

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,
Speakers of a hidden art,
Which sings and recreates

Moments that survive
When we were all 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.