A  summer's poem written by Mark Twain

When on a summer's morn I wake,

And open my two eyes,

Out to the clear, born-singing rills

My bird-like spirit flies.

To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,

Or any bird in song;

And common leaves that hum all day

Without a throat or tongue.

And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,

Back in my room alone,

My heart has many a sweet bird's song —

And one that's all my own.

(Mark Twain)

 

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