Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

I love to hear the beat of her voice on my left eardrum,
even though she who speaks so sweatly to me is  dumb.

I still hear her as loud as that old choir sings,
and I can't help but chant to the rhythmic flames that her fire springs.

The world shouts too loudly for them to hear her,
so she comes to my heck of the woods, expecting serenity to occur. 

but, my dear, peace does not fly with me;
for, like you, I was made to be hated by the majority like a bourgeoisie. 

Oh, glorious nightingale, please go away from here, 
for we neither have branches nor crumbs to spare.

This doom is for birds who withstood heaven, 
Oh, beautiful bird, you're not a raven.

I am in love with you, sweat 
nightingale, 
and would love for us to fly
together over the Orchard Lake in Carbondale. 
But the price of such love is the equivalence of thirty one  Clydesdales,

So goodbye,  my sweet nightingale!