Garden of Poetry

Nightingale, thou art not forlorn,
Thy sacrifice not made in vain -
That hung thy life upon a thorn,
And tempered true love with its stain.

Purity, thou art not slighted
By the spurn of a thankless sway.
Thy charity stands unblighted,
Though the whole world withers away.

Nightingale, thy sweet notes impart
The tenets of a godly role.
I hold thy bloom against my heart,
And sing thy song within my soul.

~ Daniel F Mitchell