Nightingale

A creature drawn to light,

Full of heart, shining bright,

Even said creature sings in the night,

Where the hug of itself keeps it right,

A creature with a beautiful song,

A song that is endangered, threatening to be gone,

The nightingale sits in darkness,

Cover of the night lets it move cautious,

A long creature sits alone,

Everything on its mine still and unknown,

Singing its song from the soul,

Singing its song with one absolute goal,

The nightingale sits in still,

Watching the word pass itself in will,

It’s call flowing throughout the night,

One that clings to a glimmering light,

The nightingale’s songs stops,

Its call fading before the treetops,

Outside where the wild things are,

Its feathers fading, so bizarre,

The nightingale, as human as it is,

Lets it call for others fiz,

The nightingale notices this, 

As the world forgets about it,

The nightingale, now with new vigor,

Spreads its wings, its song now rigueur,

The nightingale’s epiphany,

Now something of litany,

As it spreads its wings and flies away.