--A tribute to John Keats, a lyrical poet whose short-lived career inspired so many writers in the past, present, and future to dream.
O’ nightingale,
Dryad of the street,
My heart aches
When you sing
Your summer song.
How is it,
O’ nightingale of yore,
You sing with sweet content
While they weep
Behind the neon lights?
With full-throated ease,
You’ve sung your very heart—
Yet, today, I fear,
Will be my final song.
Fade, O’ immortal one,
You were not born for death.
Fade and forget the perversity—
The insanity
Meant for the hands of men.
I’ve served these streets,
O’ nightingale,
And fought the good fight.
But now, O’ winged angel of yore,
I pray for one
Final song
Before I wake--
Before I sleep.