On one perfectly perfect peaceful day an odd and curious sound drifted down through the persimmon leaves in Fran Nantucket’s garden. High in a harvest loft of barley corn sat Milo, a mockingbird or so he was born. With his beak open wide, pushing the odd sound out and up toward the usually peaceful morning sky Milo soon discovers that just being yourself, singing your own song can sometimes take a lot of courage.
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