Small Nightingale on perch left desolates
Upon whence in the midst viridity surrounded, Up high about heaven;
\"Poor bird, you looked careworn with your wings loosened, and must \'em made you weaken.\"
Somewhere she glared at creations, then back to a complete calming again.
Lo! And fair shake gave to voice wobbles-
They deserved not, though-
She sounds melody and harmony with me,
Yet tells the mystery of shortage against time.
Those eyes were what more- Would soon see much, all we won\'t.
Giving up eternity to some heyday left perhaps the heaviest catch-up, come what may?
----------- MB Ryngkhlem