A lone nightingale winks from a burnt branch
deep into the living forest-- the nightingale sings.
Nighttime howls from wolves across the hills soothe the solitude in its voice.
The surface of the world-- majestic and aquatic quilt holds all life together.

Nightingale shadows fly and send their breath across the falling atmosphere.
A nearby owl envisions the moon with its eyes.
Animals respond to the cycle of nature below the pouring fresh rain
for the grains to grow up, waters will feed them.

Nearby animals taste life under the misty skies as the forest grows.
Thunder waits for the nightingales to weep into blackness disguised
silently they let their tears ripple into the waters.
The bird on the branch stands like an altar.

Autumn comes like the chariot of a lover worshiping romance
trees shift into brighter shades-- they get older with every hour spent.
Feeling sleepy, the birds sense their slightest vibrations--
the storm was experienced colder, and thunder sounded louder.
Dry leaves merge with the wilting grasses
the leaves hover into the wind manifesting the outcome.

Here within the eye of the storm in the pureness of earth
a bird's moan punctures glasses built on the verge of civilization.
The border between those two worlds is shaking
all birds will leave to the south searching for refuge away from the deep sleep incoming and frightful gray dreams.

goodness is echoing from their flight
caressing abandoned puddles, along with the breeze
feeds dusty grass beads and the specks of dirt are crumbling
lilies in the valley succumb to the shaking
all eyes get directed towards the outcome.