A rose questions a lovestruck nightingale, confused by his obsession. He reveals a distorted view of the world, fueled by love.

Today, morn she asked in wonder,
“Why everywhere me you ponder?

In every face you see my face mine,
In every scent you inhale mine.

I see not what you see,
I feel not what you feel.

Hey, nightingale, tell me of your craze –
How you find me in all that you gaze?”

Replied the mad Nightingale,

“Come and see your troubled world,
Every grain you shall think is made of gold.

If you see from my angle,
You are more than an angel.

What you think is the fault of my eye,
Is indeed my love for which fairies vie.

Hey, Rose!
True love in its full
Is never understood.
You hardly care
For this lover’s blood.”

July 12 2010