The nightingale sings
Beneath a silver moon
It is a song of melancholy
It falls upon my ear
Like a lover’s whispers,
Urgent and persuasive.
It is your happiness
That I want most of all
I see it in the frames of old films
In the swing of your hips
The melody guides me through the dark
To the beat of the crunch of the deadwood
Until I reach the water’s edge.
You are there;
The reflection of your body,
Shimmering in the ripples fed by the breeze
Which breathes over the lake,
Disappears as you push forward,
Searching for what you have no longer.
I stand and watch for a while
Then move on
For I have nothing to give
Only the song of the night bird
Over which I have no power
The cool water strokes you
Not as once I did
For in those days
I gave you your happiness
That happiness
Which now I want most of all