Nightingale the bird of silken darkness singing to herald spring

In the month of May , amid the deserted woods

It sings of love deep and lasting singing for lovers

That are engrossed in clandestines rendezvous

Under the ebon pall of enveloping darkness

As they sojourn in solitude under the veil of silver moonlight

It sings as a mesmerised lovelorn lover

In golden notes that enthrall and enchant

It sings for the rose bud that bursts in full bloom

As the amorous songstress of sleepless nights

Burst forth in a symphony of love

Insomniac bird of poignant mellifluous tunes

That float in the environs to ensnare one and all

Weary travellers arriving at dusk hear sweet songs

And are invigorated with the elixir of music

Philomela in this raven incarnation sings of its plight

Weaving its sorrow and tears into silken strains

It pushes against a thorn that pricks its heart

And pours forth the song of flowing pathos

Singing at the union of lovers woithin darkness’ quilt

It sings all night on the altar of love

The sight of the nightingale brings demise

As the fickle maiden who would always postpone her wedding

She now bears the curse of sleepless worrisome nights

It sings songs to lure its mate

Its melodious songs are the antidote to all ailments

Soothing and healing to the bruised soul

At the dusk of life it sings its sweetest songs

It sings in rapture at the approaching dawn

And dies at the hour of Christ’s death in the ninth hour

Leaving a legacy of sweetness in memories of lovers…