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

In every face you see face mine
In every scent you inhale mine

I see not what you see
I feel not what you feel

O 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 will 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

O Rose!
True love in its full is never understood
You hardly care for this lover’s blood

July 12 2010