In the local calendar of birds
The mockingbird resembles September
When they return without a word
About where they've been
Or what they've been up to
Not every backyard gets one
That whole first month is spent
Inspecting the boundaries of song
Testing their resolve
To sum up the summer
To make a little book of it
Another lost gospel
Pages and pages of nights
Trying again to sing
The whole world awake
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