Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

Nightingale Spring

One hundred stories
Has my friend
And black as the night
Is he
A mouth of gold
All fates foretold
He sings of
Noble deeds.

Our smallest still
His doublet down
In fierce roulette
And dread;
His battle-heart
Worn on his chest
In flags of
Flaming red.

--

--

Wearer of many hats; private poet, parent in parentheses, perpetual nerd.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Anna Murzyn

Wearer of many hats; private poet, parent in parentheses, perpetual nerd.