Nightingale's Song


I heard a nightingale's song and it sprung up in my heart.
Bees on wildflowers fell like gilded, drunken darts.
Grass laughed the whole way from the forest to my shoe.
Butterflies as small as shreds of billet-doux
soared in seeming circles, white as white eggshells.
The joy of another had served me well.


1998