A rose questions a lovestruck nightingale, confused by his obsession. He reveals a distorted view of the world, fueled by love.
Today, morn she asked in wonder,
“Why everywhere me you ponder?
In every face you see face mine,
In every scent you inhale mine.
I see not what you see,
I feel not what you feel.
Hey, nightingale,
Tell me of your craze –
How do you find me
In all that you gaze?”
Replied the mad Nightingale,
“Come and see
Your troubled world,
Every grain you shall think
Is made of gold.
If you see from my angle,
You are more than an angel.
What you think
Is the fault of my eye,
Is indeed my love
For which fairies vie.
Hey, Rose!
True love in its full
Is never understood.
You hardly care
For this lover’s blood.”
July 12 2010. Edit March 2024
