Who Killed the Mockingbird?

Who Killed the Mockingbird?

Who killed the mockingbird, I ask,

Whose song once brightened every task?

In woods so deep, where shadows fall,

A melody echoed, pure and tall.

The breeze once carried its sweet tune,

Under the sun, beneath the moon.

But now the air is cold and still,

Its voice gone quiet, against my will.

Was it the hands of those who feared,

The gentle song that they revered?

Did envy steal its wings so free,

Or was it simply destiny?

Perhaps it was the silence, grown,

In hearts that long for seeds they’ve sown.

For innocence, though bright and clear,

Is often lost to doubt and fear.

So, who killed the mockingbird, you say?

Maybe we all did, in some way.

By turning blind eyes to the light,

And letting darkness steal its flight.