The Nightengale's Song

As the moon swells from still waters below The sky turns a dark indigo Yet another calm night has granted us rest And blest are those who soundlessly sleep Then as the little ones begin counting their sheep, The Nightingale sings Oh, you think how ethereal and divine is her lullaby So sweet to the ears it makes the angel's cry More tender than that of an infant's eye Compared to her song there is no tie Listen to that enticing voice behind her miniscule disguise Note after note you snooze into a peaceful slumber One by one, you're out in numbers Then when there is none, the Nightingale's deed is done But who is to sing to the Nightingale... none Silent is the air, and still she is awake It unsettles her, reminding her that no one is there to comfort her Unease in her, concerning her, her sanity is now at stake Stirring in her bosom is a void, so she cries out to the night The moon and the stars are her only audience But they are only audible by sight “Ah!” She belts out intervals of loneliness But you are too wrapped up in your own dreams to notice Pity is the party and silence is its hostess The octaves in her voice are what she so desperately holds the closest Oh, you think how ethereal and divine is her lullaby But the melody is so estranged it makes the angel's cry Her pleads are more delicate than that of an infant's eye Compared to her song there is no tie Now listen to that sad voice hidden behind her miniscule and beautiful disguise