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In childhood, I had heard your song,
In twilight-- after rain,
The lovely floating clarity--
The notes without a stain.
It echoed from surrounding hills,
As the octave you would change,
I guessed at what your plumage was,
And the size-- to make such range.
I'd heard you called a "nightingale"--
By one I thought would know;
Your voice did fit the poet's words--
Their odes befit your "show".
Your elusive form eluded sight,
Seemed ever far away;
I never once came close to you--
You never chose to stray.
But then one day, without a thought--
I heard your call close-by!
And saw you walk as still you sang--
Could scarce believe my eye!
Your spotted breast-- your feathers brown
Your modest size and all--
How could a bird so nondescript--
Put forth such glorious call?
Twice your size-- I thought you'd be--
For a note to sound so far--
I'd need a book to learn your name,
Confirm just who you are.
Now in age, I miss your song,
For you're no longer here.
Just faded memories of those notes,
That thrilled a childhood ear.
A lesson learned, is all I have,
That beauty's not so deep--
It's what the user really does--
That others wish to keep!