The Lark and the Nightingale

In the light of the dawn,
the lark song swells, a melodious siren to the sun,
coaxing her from rosy sleep to rise high into the sky.
Curse long the lovely, lonely lark, thee I beg.
Silence its cheerful morning thrill of song.
Let me pray instead for my knightly nightingale,
to bring back the magic of a full-faced moon
and sing back the necromantic night
where we slumbered with limbs a-tangle,
night vision inspirations intertwined,
I in your dreams, you in mine,
conjuring the spells of a bewitching hour
when you turned to gently cup my chin
and kiss the question of my upturned face,
tender held in strong arms of lover night's embrace
when you reached for me unashamed
kindred hearts fueling passions flame
until in contentment, love met and mated,
shooting shattered, scattered particles of paradise
in comet's tail across the inky blue heavens
until they fell down rusting upon the clover lawn,
dissolved in the daylight of the dew soaked dawn
whose slender rays of summer sun o'er perch lightened sill
and beamed me westward from the wings of my nightingale,
on the notes of morning lark's song.



© 2007 Inner Beauty