thou hear mockingbird sings,
sending sensation through thine skin.
according to thou it's a distraction -
a streak of "annoyance",
thy hands grab onto mine in vexation.

"i'll kill it."
said a charming poet,
one i've never met -
perhaps new fish caught in thy net.
and so my darling smiles,
light shine through thine eyes.
"for me,
really?"

"isn't it a sin?
to kill a mockingbird."
i hope he gets the hint.
cause my dear love,
windows to thy soul are dark-tinted.