Poem on Tom Robinson:
A mockingbird has just died,
Died even though it had done no wrong.
No wrong deserving of even a single scolding,
Yet it was mercilessly killed.
It was merely flying through the forest,
Singing with all its heart for us.
It had committed no sin,
Causing no inconvenience to us.
However when the time came,
Someone wanted to hunt.
A mere act of bragging,
To show off to his friends.
A target he needed but could not find,
One that was hard to shoot and could not hide.
And when that little mockingbird happened to be there,
With a sound of a shot it dropped dead on the floor.
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