A Weary Nightingale
My heart sings like a weary nightingale
with a rhythm I can never refine,
but I carry within a mournful tale
and yearning for dreams that were never mine.
By the mountains, in search of peace to grieve,
I seek respite from the years filled with scorn,
yet no one had a reason to believe
I could ever fulfill what I had sworn.
But it is the calling of the sublime
that leads me to search for rapturous heights,