Nightingale

In the stillness of night, where the soft echoes flow, And the nightingale sings with a voice faint and low, While the dogs in the distance keep barking in streams, Yet the world lies asleep in the hush of its dreams.

There’s a rustle of leaves and the whispering tide, As the waters move gently, they weave as they glide. There is nobody, not a shadow to see— Only you, only me, where the silence runs free.

How your shoulder feels warm, how your hand finds its place, As the clouds above hold a soft, tender grace. Still the riverbanks stay, while the day drifts away— Only us, only love, in the flow where we sway.