The Nightingale\'s Midnight Serenade
Under the moon’s soft silver light,
A nightingale sings through the night.
Perched upon the old oak tall,
His voice, a melody, so enthralled.
His notes weave through the midnight air,
A lullaby beyond compare.
The rustling leaves sway in delight,
Dancing in tune with songs so bright.
The stars above seem to gleam,
Echoing back his wistful dream.
The wind, a whisper soft and
The weary world listens, hushed and still,
Each tender note a gentle thrill.
The lonely hearts, the restless minds,
Find solace where his music shines.
A chorus sung from feathered grace,
A voice that time cannot replace.
Each night he comes to sing anew,
A hymn beneath the sky so blue.
His rhythm blends with twilight’s hue,
A symphony bathed in midnight dew.
As dawn arrives, the melody fades,
Vanishing into golden shades.
Yet tomorrow he will return once more,
To sing the songs we all adore.
His midnight chant, so sweet and free,
A gift of love from tree to tree.