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The Nightingale Dreams

 by Iijia Dubois


Her voice remained harmonious,

and one could only imagine if she was aware of the world outside 

Her voice aired out a hymn of longing,

for a time, or place, or figure who was long gone

The Nightingale cried, with the waxing of the morning sun, 

and waning of the nightly moon.

She sung, 

                 Cree, cree, chicory 

                 Cree, cree, chicory, 

                 My heart, it longs for thee

A song so sorrowful, we were covered in gloom for our formative years.

Each waking moment lay a reminder of the bird's loss, 

Each incantation shrouded the lands with distant sorrow. 

                 Cree, cree, chicory

                 Cree, cree, chicory

                 My heart, it longs for thee

She sang, as with the sun, she rose to chase whatever was ahead

Falling back to her perch, each dusk gameless. 

Her melodies waned with her spirits, as she began to wither

Soon betrothed to her perch, 

up lonely on the fig tree. 


The sweet song was all we had left

after her soul was called to serve some other.

Her song fell down with each spring rain, 








     for thee. 

and in each gust of wind, the voice whispered its lullabye. 

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