My soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away
His was a sad and sorry plight
A pretty poor pathetic sight
He seemed ~ as such, resembled me!
Since I myself know misery
For loss of Love\'s a tragic thing
As troubadours would often sing
In pain-filled, medieval times
They’d pluck their lyres, recite their rhymes
Composed laments of long-lost love
They penned, as pleas, to God above
For healing of their heart and mind
(They saw in God, the caring kind)
Their verse performed would touch and tear
Of broken hearts the wounds lay bare
Their lyrics moved the king and queen,
Who’d sat before like stone, serene
And peasants wept and so did lords
The soldiers’ tears would wet their swords
While priests would pine and chant and pray
As men possessed ~ like me today!
Whose soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away