Mockingbird

And even if our moorings come undone,
there still are tulips blooming in the sun
and hyacinths to fill the air with scent.
What if our stories lose what they had meant?
The dawn still follows when the dusk has fallen;
the day still wakes though hope is all forgotten.
Though ignorant armies still may clash by night,
the mockingbird ascends in joyous flight
to perch up in the topmost of the oaks;
an innocence we lost it yet invokes,
and songs we have forgotten still it sings.
Look up and bless the flash of white-barred wings!
We can be true to one another yet
though all things else may falter and forget,
but each one follows still its given way.
So soft the nighttime follows blazing day.
The bread is laid upon the table still:
Come sit with me, and break, and eat your fill.