Lady Nightingale is crying in her nest on the acacia tree,
Since Mr. Nightingale has already at dinner supposed to be.
Always so reliable, always so punctual,
Eleven o’clock – his absence is actual!
The dinner is already cold: soup of flies on the evening dew,
Six mosquitoes in a stew,
Grilled butterfly seasoned with shade of the wood,
And for dessert – cake from breeze in romantic mood.
What if something happened to him? What if he was attacked?
What if his feathers are plucked and he is hijacked?
It’s the jealousy! It’s a lark and his nasty kids!
They would do it without batting the eyelids!
Then Mr. Nightingale arrives – whistling, jumping…
“Where have you flown? Where have you been? I’m crying!”
And Mr. Nightingale chirps sweetly: “I’m sorry, my Luv,
Such a lovely evening so I walked on foot! “