The nightingale sang a lamenting tune,
Of all consuming loss and absence real.
Its voice deceptive in that lightest croon,
Still sombre in its beauty, painéd peal.
It sang of Thornfield and its entrapped lord,
Lonely, protected and wary of joy,
When came the skylark with melodic chord.
Surprising the house with a pleasing ploy,
And making the rough and robust a home.
The nightingale, a vigil watcher there,
Now duets with skylark and enjoys the gloam,
With dawning dialogue between the two where
Once was absence now full feeling expressed,
A life half lived can indeed be twice blessed.
Written on 28th February 2020.