The Maiden and the Nightingale

As soft moonlight shone upon the maiden, She pulled her dark hair away from her face. With fresh flowers, her garden was laden, And around her a nightingale did trace. The bird then quickly vanished from her sight— She regretted it having left too soon. The strong wind led the bird on its high flight, Over the water reflecting the moon. Near the brook, it found some sticks it could use To build a nest closer to her homestead. The bird began flying back to its Muse, Spreading its wings, from the water, it fled. As the nightingale took time to linger, The lovely maiden awoke with a yawn. With the nightingale upon her finger, Around her garden, she walked in the dawn. As cathedral bells in the distance rang, The nightingale on the maiden's hand sang.