A Moment

The drum beats.
The heart stops.
A single moment.
Things fall apart.

The Nightingale

Was our a sprout that never blossomed?

Sitting on her windowsill, singing love’s lament;

Summer days slipped pass, the images remained.

Does love age and fade; lasting as long as the migrating night?

Lost is the time of the songstress; singing to the deserting sky.

Does not the moon see it nor does it care to hear its cries?

A distance separation, a lone nightingale takes flight.