The Nightingale's Heart's Blood

[Friedrich]

The Nightingale’s Heart’s Blood

To Oscar Wilde

“Press closer, little Nightingale“
cried the Tree,
“or the day will come before the rose is finished.“

And as in a last and fatal effort
the Nightingale pressed closer her tiny heart
against the Rosetree’s thorn
to crimson with her heart’s blood the pale heart of the rose
a little drop escaped her breast
and softly fell upon
a blanket of lily-white snow
beneath the Student’s window.

And there – oh miracle !
– instead of melting into a plain purple stain
on the very spot where it fell –
the last drop of the Nightingale’s heart’s blood
instantly froze into a ruby-red precious stone
and rested there upon a bed of snow
as if the nimble hand of a jeweller’s daughter
had carefully placed it upon a sheet of silky white snow.

How it was found and by whom we know not,
but a worthy Navajo Indian artist in Arizona
must have received it one day
and, enchanted by its mysterious glow,
skilfully put a delicate frame of shiny polished silver
around it so to enhance its rare beauty.

And then it finally found its way
to the jeweller’s shop display in Frankfurt
where after a century long journey
it was waiting patiently
for someone with imagination
to know its life story and to appreciate its true value.

But, alas, it’s only fools
who seem to care
whether a bird sings or is for ever mute;
and who the heck gives a damn about roses
as long as they are but of the written kind.