The Nightingale

Poem By Richard George

Once, just once, I heard it;
That warm night in April
When it landed, on migration
In oak woods across the fields
From my garden: and I stood there
As it soaked the air with music,
Beseeching for a mate.
A bird, the size of my hand:
I wondered how it could sing so hard
And live.
An hour came down to rapture,

Second by second.

But twenty years have flown,
And the birds that I remember
For plumage, song, or something else
Are dying out:
The corncrake falls to the combine,
Highwayman shrike hangs up his scythe
And even the lark has gone to ground...
We shall miss them, when they are gone.
Spring will seem like autumn,
The sky too still:

At least I heard the nightingale.

Comments about The Nightingale

Gorgeous. A beautiful ending to a lovely penned piece. A real joy to read. Very moving and melancholy. Loved it. Love Ernestine XXX


Rating Card

4,3 out of 5
2 total ratings

Other poems of GEORGE

Eclipse: A Haiku Sequence

Imperceptible
at first, sunlight changing; then
dusky, or faded,

A Walking Sadness

The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,

Halcyon And After

It was May or June, I met you:


Business, something or other.

Sylvia Plath's Cats

Their breath was clean, or harsh and sour
according to her moods:
and when they sensed a coming storm
they crept into corners.

Marie Celeste

Now I may never see you again
I can think of no one else:
I wait on platforms, hair in the wind
But trains all leave the past

7/7: Before And After

The dark young man
with the curls of the Maghreb
is in an altercation
with the ghost