As the Nightingale sings...
His sweet song of happiness
Driven by bountiful liberation
Relieved from timeless crappiness
Fluttering, making a joyful noise
Trials to deprive him of craftiness
Surely fails at inflicting such harm
He sings gleefully, free of nastiness.


As the Nightingale sings...
His wrenching song of fear
Realizing his time can easily fall
At any moment danger may appear
Songs of melodic screechy whistles
Alerting of predators lurking clear
He's hurt, used to frequent viewing
His kin die, for each he sheds a tear.


As the Nightingale sings...
His sensual song of passion
Strong vocals of desired courtship
Refusing to share his ration
With many rivals upon his branch
Alluring females with his attraction
Mating rituals commencing in love
His plumage thrives in new fashion.


As the Nightingale sings...
His saddened song of sorrow
Wishing for better times to come
Hoping to make it to the morrow
Living below a abundant food chain
With a short lifespan to borrow
Singing til his last breath is breathed
Eloped to heaven, a angel he follows.

© Michael P. Smith