"Dusk hath come and the sun doth go,
painting the sky a haunting colour of woe.
Stars glow faintly as the pale moon doth rise,
bitter winds carry the flutter of wings,
and a tune of such prize.
Feathers as dark as the bark on which it doth perch,
eyes so black and bleak yet ever watchful amongst the birch.
Frail are the tweets of such a sweet creature,
yet it's little heart beats with such splendid a vigour.
Frail are the tweets of such a sweet creature,
yet bitter are the notes which the nightjar utter."
