…of the nightingale

I am the sorrow upon the breeze of memories
beneath softly blooming cherry trees
I am the wild mist circling a deep darkening sea
through endless weeping rain
I am the troubled soul of the nightingale
ever singing in solitude against the night
I am the tendrils of all my broken dreams
forever drifting on the river of time
I am the silent reflections of the aching moon
etched upon the silvery snow
I am the melancholy poems of the nightingale
ever drifting in the dark tapestry of night
I am the ancient ocean
my crucible of tears, ebbing out into black tides of loss
I am the magnificent eagle
soaring high upon the wind and always circling out of reach
I am the scattered stars of night
broken like promises, yet holding on to their light
I am the whispering sonnets of the nightingale
ever soft, like calming winds in the trees
I am the dust of all my days
adrift in evanescent hues against the darkness
I am the colours of the dawn, lost in deep echoing pools
fading too early like the rose
I am the falling querulous notes of the nightingale
ever aching, to lie at last in sweet repose
© Ann Bagnall