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Little nightingale,
wings of white and gold.
Little nightingale,
singing gay and bold.
Fly away, far from your iron cage.
Fly away, up in the North sky.
One day you will come back,
singing your last requiem to me,
For I shall be there to hear no more.
   You are very brave,
   and you are very free,
So do not fall into sorrow,
do not fall into eternal repose.
But until then...
  - Sing, oh sing,
My sweetest nightingale
high above my broken baroque grave
 Apr 2017 Lillian Luna
Gidgette
She saw the blood this morning,
as she was making the bed
She sat down in the rocking chair,
and sadly, dropped her head
Remembering what he did last night,
the awful things he said
Shame came creeping over her,
turning her bruised face bright red
All the years they'd been together,
seven, since they'd wed
She had hoped for love and kindness,
but got misery instead
She heard his boot heels on the walk,
her heart sank, filled with dread
The monster hit her too hard that time,
now
she sleeps with Angels, in heavens bed
I can feel myself slowly slipping through the cracks, fading further and further into the distance, soon to become nothing more than a ghost, fabricated by their nostalgia.
Why do we always get high
When we're feeling low?
In this life I have found you to love
And in the next I shall do the same.
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