Besotted Nightingale

Yours is the face I see at night when I'm
Too tired to sleep. The photos of you
Holding puppies break my heart. That's
Who you are, and something like that blind
Affection seems to grasp me when you're
Near. I don't believe you realize that I feel
Toward you that way, too, but now, though
You've become my muse; I sing, besotted
Nightingale, inspired by the love which,
Sometimes, I know washes over me,
My love's migrated from my heart,
Which can no longer sense your presence,
To my brain, which argues that you're
Close, but you are not.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 122 times
Written on 2019-01-03 at 02:06

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Members of Coo & Co thought of Keats too. And we also mused upon Oscar Wilde's short story, 'The Nightingale and the Rose'. That does not end well, to our minds. But your poem is pleasant to read, Larry. We like very much the notion of migration in this context :>)

Modern Keats? I like the image of "besotted nightingale."