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Nightingale
The beckoning call of the Nightingale
Like the whistle of wind in a sail
Arrives on a spring days tail
And nestles like a cotton ball
Inside a trees hidden cloud
The hatchlings are so loud
Bumblebees covered in a honey shroud
But never so happy parents will be
When the fledglings leave the tree
The Nightingale nest empty
Copyright ©
Jamie Delgado
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