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March is HereSing me a song, little mocker,
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Sing me a song about spring.
Lift up your head, ruffle your feathers,
And flutter your white-striped wings.
I'll sit on a bench, and you'll perch on the branch,
And I'll trade you a story for seed.
Sing about sunshine, sing about flowers,
Tell me the mockingbird's creed.
Tell me of bluebonnets, coating the hills
With a carpet of proud, vibrant blooms -
I'll tell you of traffic on I-35
With rush hours starting at noon.
I'll sing you a song about cold buzzing lights,
Life sleepless and stressful and dull.
Your chirping is silenced by our modern life,
Where spring doesn't play much a role,
Where hills are a nuisance and sun is a threat,
Where bluebonnets get in the way.
You perch on your branch and the people pass by,
Too busy to care what you say.
Mockingbird, please, don't you copy this song.
It's an ugly industrial thing.
Teach me to flutter and ruffle and perch.
Teach me your songs about spring.