*The piano sings into the night
like a nightingale upon a lonely branch.
Underneath, the lake glistens.
Every streak of soft blue, sailing gently
to touch the moon on the satin water.
Stillness silences.
Stillness, and a bird's cry, the rest of the night.
The bird has died but the feathers wander on.*
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
*The piano sings into the night
like a nightingale upon a lonely branch.
Underneath, the lake glistens.
Every streak of soft blue, sailing gently
to touch the moon on the satin water.
Stillness silences.
Stillness, and a bird's cry, the rest of the night.
The bird has died but the feathers wander on.*
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