A NIGHTINGALE

One dark stromy night

Sitting alone on a withered tree

A nightingale sang ,

A song so sweet,

A song so deep,

Whose mystery none seemed to reach

Was it a song of joyness

Or was it a song of sadness

Or was it a song of glory of the night

And the storm's brightness

I didn't understand, as hard as I tried

Though I lay awake all night

In the morning the bright sun arose

The nightingale having sung all night

Was now asleep on a dark red rose

To sleep a sleep of comfort and peace

And never to wake up from its dream!