The Nightingale

One from my "back catalogue", this was written on the 15th June 2005.

The Nightingale
(based on a story by Hans Christian Andersen)

Sweet was the song, in the dawn

The Emperor strolling on his lawn

Heard the nightingale, wished then

That the singing would go on again

Never ending, and so he was sent

An artificial bird, marvel of orient

Springs and cogs and sapphire eyes

Fashioned by men of cunning, wise

And the nightingale, she went away

In sorrow, not heard by night or day

While the other lay on a silk cushion

The real bird was exiled to far horizon

Banished from all the realm and land

To the farthest shores of distant sand

But then the mechanism broke one day

Cogs worn out, it could no more play

And now there was no bird to sing

No more the living, vibrant, wing. 

For five long years, there was no song

Deepest sorrow on land for great wrong

The Emperor fell ill, so cold and pale

Death came to him who had been hale

Standing before, wearing a gold crown

Holding sword, arrayed in purple gown

Strange faces came in sight, some kind

But some grim, hideous, faces maligned

The Emperors’ good and evil deeds in part

Come now that Death sitting on his heart

But at the height of distress, a song came

Beautiful singing, hope and joy proclaim

The strange shapes grew faint, faded now

Still the nightingale sang, to life endow

Death floated like a cold mist, gone away

The Emperor weeping tears, began to pray

Gave thanks for nightingale, a bird in sight

And its melody of life, of breath, of light.