Chilean Mockingbird by Pablo Neruda — Read

Mimus thenca

The long-tailed mockingbird flew dressed like scissors: perched on a thread, it listened to the telegraph's deep voice, the wire's blue pulse, heard words, kisses, numbers, fleet petals from the soul, then launched its trill, released a transparent stream, and scattered its delirium to the winds.

Mockingbird, I did not learn your lesson of flight and song and thought:

I learned it all from the mist, the moisture, the silence.

I did not know how to dance and fly above the peumo trees' beauty, submerge my soul in the boldu trees, while away time whistling in the wind.

I did not know about your wisdom, the speed of your trill, the republic of your song.

I swear I'll learn whatever you profess: to know how to fly like an arrow, to study the secret syllables of the outdoors and leaves, to sing with the water and the land, and to establish in the silence a crystalline chair of learning.