Mockingbird in flight, so brief in your passing, dulcet melodies out of repertoire singing. Like time's passage, life's future waning, fading notes, sweet sound traces lingering. Nature's artistry evolved, carols so evoking, composition unsung, spared human meddling. Music so fair, like angel's harps fingering, wafting down, latent harmony revealing. Life's innate impostor, why deserved of praising, each aria clear and pure tho' not of your making? Phrases well turned yet repeating; ever feigning, well versed trite mimic on life's fickle staging. On wind waves soaring, other songbirds parroting, melodies by rote, only listening; pretending. Hackneyed player, banal imposter; ever reprising, novel notes undiscovered, mimicking yet beguiling. Mockingbird in flight, with wing beats slowing, are your melodies flawed, diminished by rendering? Then Hamlet on stage only Shakespeare's words aping, a Mozart symphony just an orchestra by rote playing.