In Shadow find the Darkling ‘sleep, for darkness does her sorrow keep
In comp’ny with her soulful weep and errant misunderstandings;
Whilst the Nightingale sings her song, frantic and sullen, loud and strong,
In shades of grey, ‘tween right and wrong, her misery notwithstanding.
A lyrical song of romance; a melody by which they dance;
Grasping at straws for one last chance to go trip the light fantastic.
Underneath the forbidden tree, where mem’ries lived of what could be,
The Shadow bares his soul to she, an action that seemed quite drastic.
For the eye of intention’s dark, and random flirting leaves its mark,
The shape of a heart in the bark of the taboo tree that shades them;
But from their lust no love is born, as Darkling’s heart is broke and worn,
And lies are told when love is sworn and Shadow mostly evades them.
Thus poems are wrote and songs are sung, with tenderness, with silver tongue
And, although neither one is young, their hearts together do tingle …
So, in Shadow the Darkling lies, under his watchful Irish eyes,
Protected from the darkened skies where both love and heartbreak mingle.