Songs of the songbirds sung high,
Gracing the ears of passers by.
Sweet lullabies from the nightingale,
Make songs from the songbirds, seem pale.

The nightingale sings its tune for all to hear.
People stop to listen, and for the singer, they peer.
Hoping for a glance of the singing bird,
They search and search for the singer of the song they heard.

Hiding now from its admiring audience,
The nightingale continues to sing and sing for not a single pence.
Tired and content the nightingale stops and dozes,
Waiting for tomorrow, hidden, among the roses.