The Sparrow Who Learned a New Song

Poppy was a small brown sparrow who lived in a cozy nest tucked inside a cherry blossom tree. Every morning, she would hop to the edge of her nest and sing the same cheerful song: “Tweet-tweet-chirp! Tweet-tweet-chirp!”

It was a perfectly lovely song, and Poppy had been singing it every single day since she was a tiny chick. Her mother had taught it to her, and her mother’s mother had taught it to her, and so on, all the way back to the very first sparrow in Poppy’s family.

But one sunny morning, something different happened.

Poppy was singing her usual song when she heard something extraordinary floating through the air. It was music—but not like any bird song she’d ever heard before. It swooped up high like a kite, then tumbled down like raindrops, then danced around like butterflies playing tag.

“What is that?” Poppy wondered, tilting her little head.

She fluttered down from her tree and followed the mysterious melody. It led her past the pond where the frogs lived, through the wildflower meadow where the bees hummed, and all the way to the edge of the forest.

There, perched on a twisted oak branch, sat the most magnificent bird Poppy had ever seen. It was a mockingbird with sleek gray feathers and bright, clever eyes.

“Excuse me,” Poppy said shyly. “That song you were singing—it’s beautiful! How did you learn it?”

The mockingbird puffed out his chest proudly. “Oh, I didn’t learn it from anyone! I made it up myself. I’m Morris the Mockingbird, and I can sing ANY song I want. I can even make NEW songs whenever I feel like it!”

Poppy’s eyes grew wide with wonder. “You can make up your OWN songs? But I’ve only ever sung the one song my mother taught me.”

Morris tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, why don’t you try making up a new one? Just listen to the world around you. Everything makes music if you pay attention!”

“Everything?” Poppy asked doubtfully.

“Everything!” Morris insisted. “Listen!”

Poppy closed her eyes and listened very carefully. At first, she only heard the wind rustling through the leaves. But then she noticed other sounds too—the bubbling of a nearby stream, the gentle creaking of tree branches, and the soft whisper of grass swaying in the breeze.

“I hear things,” Poppy said, “but they don’t sound like songs to me.”

“That’s because you’re not singing WITH them yet,” Morris explained. “Here, I’ll show you. Listen to that stream—gurgle, gurgle, splash. Now watch!”

Morris began to sing: “Gur-gle-gur-gle-splash! Gur-gle-gur-gle-splash!” His voice matched the rhythm of the water perfectly.

“Oh!” Poppy chirped excitedly. “Like this?” She tried singing along with the stream too: “Gur-gle-gur-gle-splash!”

“That’s it!” Morris cheered. “You’re doing it! Now try something else.”

Poppy hopped over to where some crickets were hidden in the tall grass. She listened to their chirping: “Crick-crick-crick-crick.” She took a deep breath and sang: “Crick-crick-chirp-chirp! Crick-crick-chirp-chirp!”

The crickets seemed to chirp louder, as if they were happy to have Poppy join their song.

For the rest of the day, Poppy practiced making up new songs. She sang with the raindrops: “Pitter-patter-plip! Pitter-patter-plip!” She sang with the wind: “Whoosh-and-whistle-whee! Whoosh-and-whistle-whee!” She even sang with a squeaky wagon wheel that passed by on the road: “Squeak-squeaky-squeak-squeak!”

By the time the sun began to set, Poppy’s heart felt as light as a feather. She had discovered something wonderful—the world was FULL of songs, and she could sing along with all of them!

“Thank you, Morris!” Poppy called to the mockingbird. “Thank you for teaching me to hear music everywhere!”

Morris winked. “You already knew how, Poppy. You just needed someone to remind you to listen.”

As the stars began to twinkle in the dusky sky, Poppy flew back to her cherry blossom tree. She snuggled into her cozy nest, feeling tired but happy.

The next morning, when Poppy woke up, she hopped to the edge of her nest as always. But instead of singing her old family song, she sang something new—a song that mixed the gurgle of the stream, the whisper of the wind, the chirp of the crickets, and a little bit of her own cheerful “tweet-tweet-chirp” too.

It was a beautiful song, completely her own, yet filled with all the wonderful sounds of the world around her.

Her mother poked her head out of a nearby nest and listened with surprise. “Poppy! What a lovely new song! Did you make that up yourself?”

“I did!” Poppy said proudly. “But I had help from the stream and the wind and the crickets and my new friend Morris. And you know what, Mama? I think I might make up a different song tomorrow, and maybe a different one the day after that!”

Her mother smiled warmly. “That sounds perfect, dear. After all, there are as many songs in the world as there are days to sing them.”

And from that morning on, Poppy sang a new song every single day. Sometimes she sang the old family song because it reminded her of her mother’s love. Sometimes she sang Morris’s swooping, dancing melodies. And sometimes she made up brand new songs that had never been heard before in the whole wide world.

But no matter which song Poppy chose to sing, she always sang it with her whole heart—and that made every song special.

The End

Sleep well, little one. And tomorrow, listen carefully—you might just hear Poppy singing her newest song in the tree outside your window.

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