nightingales

midnight birds, what are you doing out there. i can hear your conversations from my room. after everyone in this house is asleep, except me, you and your friends are still singing in the park. why?

do you discuss something out there? i believe you don't have essays to submit this week, do you? so what do you discuss, tell me please. in english if possible.

are you cold, or scared? are you a bit drunk tonight? or are you just having a late night picnic at the wellington square? is it a bit hungry that you feel? would you like to have some bread? or are you just being touched by loneliness? it must be dark out there, isn't it. i hope you are not lost.

i'm sure you're not afraid of darkness. i hear your's is a lovely song. it seems as if nature speaks through you in this midnight hour. even though to me it's a bit odd to hear birds singing at this time, i admit your cheerful music bring a sense of spring into my mind. so please carry on singing. tell your stories to the stars, or to the wind if it's a cloudy night... and i will sit silently right here, in my room at the basement of this old house, guessing what is the meaning of your sweet song. if you wouldn't mind.

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"...i built my house beside the wood
so i could hear you singing,
and it was sweet and it was good
and love was all beginning..."

- nightingale, l.c.-