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Tribute To Oscar Wilde's : The Nightingale And The Rose

In twilight's abyss, where shadows weep,
A student's heart, with anguish forever asleep,
Longed for love's rose, with tender, dying might,
To ease the torment, of his endless, sleepless night.

A nightingale, with wings of sorrow gray,
Sang dirges, echoing through life's dismay,
She heard the student's cries, in dark despair,
And vowed to find the rose, to ease his hopeless care.

Through gardens of pain, where thorns of heartache grow,
She searched, with tears, and sorrow's heavy woe,
Each step, a sacrifice, each breath, a sigh,
For love's elusive rose, that seemed to pass her by.

A tree with thorns, and bitter, poisoned leaves,
Taunted her, "Why seek love's rose, amidst life's grieving eves?"
"Is love's fleeting dream worth thy final breath?"
It asked, as nightingale's heart bled to death.

Undeterred, she replied, with fading voice,
"Love's worth the cost, though my heart's final choice,"
She sang of love, with dying, quivering might,
And the rose tree's heart, began to bleed, in sorrow's endless night.

A rosebud formed, with petals of crimson pain,
The nightingale's song, made it entwine with love's refrain,
With life's last breath, the rose began to bloom,
And nightingale's heart, sang its final, mournful tune.

She gave her life, for love's ephemeral kiss,
And rose's beauty, was born of her dying wish,
But student's love, proved hollow, false, and cold,
Leaving nightingale's sacrifice, forever untold.

The rose's thorns, pierced student's heart, with pain,
As he beheld nightingale's lifeless form, in vain,
He wept, in anguish, and regret, and woe,
For love's true cost, was a life, forever lost, forever low.

In garden's silence, rose still blooms alone,
A haunting reminder, of love's tragic throne,
Nightingale's song, echoes through eternal night,
A sorrowful melody, of love's heartbreaking plight.

Student's tears, fell like autumn's endless rain,
For nightingale's sacrifice, and love's vain refrain,
He realized too late, love's cruel, heartless might,
And nightingale's song, became his eternal, mournful light.

◄ Timing

Accepting Your True Self ►

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