The Nightingale

All is quiet as darkness falls, the silence lucid and long,
It is time for the nightingale to sing his breathtaking song.
When the sun’s bright sheet of gold secretes before the trees,
He reveals himself among the shadows, his beauty quite at ease.
Although you cannot see his form, his exquisite melody flows,
So smooth and placid just like the air of the wind when it blows.

His coat of auburn and tail of crimson are soft but not grotesque,
His beady eyes that are full of life may cause you to catch your breath.
Try to perceive him through the night or spot him if you can,
For his modest form of feathers is no bigger than the palm of my hand.
He sings as we all disappear when dawn turns to dusk,
His harmony so pure and mellow, concentrate if you must.

The music streams throughout the earth, a light and peaceful sound,
Throughout the meadows, the rooftops and the houses all around.
Throughout the rooms of children who will slip into a dream,
And throughout the streets that are paved with rain that luster and gleam.
You can hear him through your window as you rest your tired head,
You can hear him when the lamp turns off and all the lights go dead.

He is heard while the fire is burning, the black logs in the hearth,
No matter if you know he’s there, his song will be heard first.
There is a gentle echo as the tune will slowly fade,
Then everyone knows the purpose that the nightingale has made.
Once his sweet song is done and entirely complete,
He wanders back into the dark and with his slumber he meets.

Until the next night approaches and the clamor is all gone,
The nightingale retires and will save his lovely song.