Moonlit Missive #30: 'Tenrils of the Vine'

I have seen the nightingale Singing in the moonlight Free, the nightingale Did not know that upon him I spied He interrupts himself at times His head inclined As if he's listening Within himself to the length Of a note that's died down Then swelling up his throat He takes his song again With all his might His head thrown back The picture of amorous despair He sings just to sing He sings such lovely things That he does not know Anymore what it was That they were meant to say But I can still hear through The melancholy notes The piping of a flute The quivering, crystalline trills In clear vigorous cries I can still hear the first Innocent and frightened Song of the nightingale Caught within The tendrils of the vine