I wonder if the forest's sounds <br />have been made just to tease <br />the wanderer who walks the grounds <br />and feels the morning breeze. <br /> <br />I'm partial to the nightingale <br />inside I sing along, <br />and as I walk I tell a tale <br />about her silk sarong. <br /> <br />She is the bird, and, at the bend <br />flies down onto my head, <br />and whispers, 'love, it is the end, <br />because you're truly dead.' <br /> <br />'It cannot be', I do protest <br />'I feel completely well, ' <br />'then come and join me in my nest <br />though it is really Hell.' <br /> <br />I have been fooled one final time, <br />lured by a pretty bird, <br />I shall no longer speak in rhyme <br />I'm missing just one word.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich 2<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forest-sounds-2/
