Her eyes are glassy.
Her scrawny hands tremble and she watches the nightingale flit
through the green shadows of nature
its angelic feathers beautiful in movement–
No! She searches the sky wildly, eager to capture a glimpse of the small, agile creature
its flapping wings and small beak
the tuft of blue and orange that spreads from its breast;
Clear, sweet birdsong breaks through the rustling of leaves
the melody warm despite the chill of the season.
The blue-throated nightingale whispers soft words:
Come home love