The Nightingale

"A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.” - Shelley



When the sky turns dark 

and the stars light a little spark,

when the clouds barely cover the moon 

A lonely girl waits for a tune. 


She opens the doors to her window,

rests herself on her elbows,

and waits for the singing

to keep away from sleeping.


She never liked to sleep,

she never liked to weep.

All she did was wait for the lovely voice, 

that was her only choice. 


She waited and waited,

knitted and grunted, until finally she heard the flapping of the wings, 

giving her the most amazing kind of feelings. 

She raised her head high, 

and met with the nightingale's eyes.


Those bead like eyes,

were just a disguise.

For the nightingale to meet the girl,

who was more beautiful than a little pearl.


It rested itself on the branch of a tree, 

The amazing view was the beach and the sea.

The nightingale opened it's beak, 

and let out a hum, attaching herself and itself in a streak. 


The melody flowed around her, 

This time it was more serene and calmer.

It sang and sang and sang until dawn

until the girl had fallen asleep after a long yawn.


It had done its job for today

Aye, it will come again tomorrow when the sky turns gray.

It will confess its feelings for her again. 

But alas, he only has just one day. 


Oh how it wished, he could sing for her everyday.

Again and again.

Oh and how it wished, 

humans could understand what it sings. 









Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...