Cannot I make the birds quote poetry?

Please Papa, read just one more line!
I promise I'll not make a sound this time.
And so the old grand read to the lad
By the glowing fire whispering so sad.
For in this day to read a metered line
Was considered equal to the highest crime.
Long before the books were banned
In the day rhymes rang throughout the land
The old grands and lads in hills would gather round
And read the sonnets flaming with poetic sounds.
Now in timid quiet he barely mouthed the words
Knowing how readily the shackles they loved to gird.
Sentences now were equated to years
And lines were where you stood in fear.
Rhymes were but discarded skins.
The longer he read curds mingled with his tears
And soon the little lad slept upon the oil cloth bed
Full from the rare fruit he had been fed.
The tatter worn volume was locked and hid in the knapsack
The embers were cold as they woke and began the journey back.
In the valley a dark fog spread its tentacles, engulfing their way.
But upon the hills, from where they came, did not the mockingbirds
repeat the poetry!