In moonlit realms where stars do gleam,
There sings a bird with voice supreme.
With melody that stirs the soul,
The nightingale, with tales untold.

Her feathered cloak of ebony,
A symphony in darkened key.
From hidden perch, she casts her spell,
A song that lures hearts to dwell.

Her notes, like whispers in the night,
Caress the air with pure delight.
A voice that echoes through the trees,
Bringing solace, a sweet release.

In lullabies, she weaves her art,
A balm for weary, troubled hearts.
Her serenade, a gentle balm,
Guiding spirits with tranquil calm.

Ode to the nightingale’s voice so rare,
A gift bestowed beyond compare.
Through darkest hours, her song will wend,
And touch the souls of all who lend.

Oh, nightingale, your song divine,
Transcends the realms of space and time.
In tender strains, your secrets lie,
A nocturnal hymn that fills the sky.

So let us bask in your sweet refrain,
As night descends, a celestial reign.
The nightingale, with voice so pure,
A poet’s muse, forever endure.