Natasha Foster

(9/8/1997)

The Black Nightingale


Hear them, they sing aloud,
They sing for all to hear.
Hear them, they sing aloud,
But one does not sing of cheer.

He sits alone, singing his song of sorrow,
The little, Black Night Songstress.
His voice so faint in the night,
He's still looking for his Sweet Mistress.

Why, little, Black Nightingale?
Why do you sing these songs of sorrow?
Do you truly miss her?
Do you wish to see her on the morrow?

My sweet, little, Black Bird,
My darling, Little Dark Angel.
Wait for her, she shall come,
Fluttering down from Heaven above.

Oh! wait, little, Black Nightingale,
Hear her voice on the air?
Hear she comes from Heaven above,
Now you both have love to share.

'Twas that tale of the little, Black Nightingale,
Who brought so many together.
'Tis the end now, of that tale,
All that's left is a little Black Feather.

Submitted: Monday, June 10, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 31, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

I thought about writing a poem about a bird, and I immediately thought: 'Nightingale...'

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