The nightingale’s last cry;
a still born child at twilight.
A bundle of feather scattered,
tattered on parched ground.
Silent is the bleakest night,
till in prayer I cry out…
“Hear my prayer, O Lord,
and give ear to my cry;
do not be silent at my tears;
for I am a stranger with You,
a sojourner, as all my fathers were.”
Not the feathers of a nightingale, I know, yet the music of one I no longer hear.
I love this too
untimely death does make everything dreary and miserable…a human birth is so fortunate that one can pray to Him and make the bleak silent night a holy one…beautiful thoughts….
In the bleakest of night, what more can we do but pray?
A still born child – is rather heart breaking.
I caw a baby bird last week
that fell from the nest, far too young.
Nature can be cruel, not even nightingales are spared…