Nightingale and I

 
 
I've lost my truest love
there's no need
for me to wake up anymore

I don’t want to hear
nightingale sing
I don’t even care
if the spruce
comes to greet me

on my windowsill 
all my bread is stale
as stale as my thoughts
crusting over each and every memory 

tasteless as the evenings dinner
I still cook for him
in hope he will come back
to dine with me, if only one last time?

Just to hear his laughter
and see the way his eyes lit up
when I baked his favorite pie
Just one last time…

I told them to go away, them birds

"Whistle your music
to someone who cares
I told them, i'm no audience for you"

but for some strange reason
they kept coming, every morning and every night
often thinking, why me?

why did I have to feel such love
just to have it ripped away by death?
why, why me?

then with much deep reflection  
I realize
I must be the luckiest
lady in the world
to have had that special love in the first place

and even though now he’s gone
knowing he can never return to my arms

I can give the birds
their well-earned fresh bread
they so deserve

because, they never gave up on me
and I shall never give up
on myself.