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His final performance, his mood was contrite
His mating call lasted through most of the night
He sang a sweet melody to capture a mate
The nest is now empty for him, it's too late
A long time ago he was happy and free
He copulated with eagerness, and nestled upon the tree
The young were nurtured in order to mature
Each flew their own way equipped and secure
His mate no longer useful so death took its toll
Now the nest is empty as the Nightngale's soul
At early dawn, with his heart beating to a crawl
The Nightingale's final breath, the last curtain call

— The End —