A grassy knoll awoke on the forest floor,
On whose soft form the sun each day would rise
And fall again with the ebbing light of day —
Quite like the dreamy games our children play
With yarns of sunny wonders. One small tree
Stood bluntly on the very crest of noon
And cast its shadows on daisies which bloom
All year round; I was there in twilit hours
Of twilit days, when all through the town, it rained.
It rained that day like it had never rained.
The skies fell apart in thunderous blaze and spark
And I was there when Fate concealed the stars —
There, where the nightingale first met the lark;
I watched the knoll, the tree, in twilit hours.
Continue reading “The Lark and The Nightingale”