The Nightingale's Song
The sun has been slain, by the sweet song's melody, of the
Nightingale, perched upon the thickets branch.
Sweetly, lyrically, whispering in it's lovers ear, I'm hear my
Passion's desire, come unto me, within thy pleasures nest.
Flights fanciful play mate, whom causes my heart to soar
Beyond the clouds divides, enchantment's mystical spell keeper,
Holding thus musical song bird, hostage by loves inspirational muse.
Let us descend together, as two angels falling from
Heaven's grace, spiritually united creatures of the air, melting,
Intertwining, within a feathery embrace.
No harms a fowl will touch thou’s t, just listen for mine warnings
Call, and know I'm always near thee.
But love's dearest remains a loaf, shyly, coyly, beseeching,
More musical enchantment, from her ministerial of song.
So the nightingale sings, of the broken hearted lovers,
Lost to tragedies twisting of fates ill hands, never to touch,
Or join as one.
Than he sings as a hushed whisper, carried across the
Soft country side, at twilight’s stilled last hour, just before
The suns dawning is stirred, awaking the mornings rise.
She cannot resist him, anymore, the beauty has concurred,
The maiden's virtuous soul.
Oh springs lovers of devotion, feather thy nests well,
With precious strains, collected through life's weathering
Storms,
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