A nightingale inside her twilight halls
Sings best before the nighttime truly falls.
The stars reflect the patterns in her eyes,
Whose depths are deeper than the endless skies.
My nightingale sings as no other can.
Her sweetest songs are anguish and delight.
The anguish all is mine, for there's no man
Who, living, can ensnare my bird in flight.
She flies on wings so pure, so deftly made;
In her there's life I know can never fade.
Her heart beats strong, but never once for me,
So I am cursed to know that she is free.
Is freedom such a curse to all who love?
If so, let no man ever love again...
But, to any nightingale so free above--
I pray you don't let your man love in vain.