It was a promise
She made to the young lover
To dance with him
If a red rose brought for her.
But alas! Not a single in whole garden,
Not anywhere, he cried in despair
His eyes flooded with tears.
From the nest of an oak tree
Heard his pain the Nightingale
Which sang romantic songs
For lovers for so long
“he is a true romantic”, it felt
To sadly see his weeping face.
Like a shadow, the Nightingale
Passed through the grove,
Garden after garden for a red rose
To everyone it cried out,
“I will sing you my sweetest song”
“Give me a red rose”.
White, yellow rose did abound
But not red that it found.
Then the bird flew to the tree
That grew only red rose
Beneath the boy’s window,
But there was no rose
The tree was bare,
“If you want a red rose,
There is a way
But it is so terrible
I can’t tell you”, said the tree
“You must build it out by moonlight
And make it red with your blood,
You must sing to me
With your breast against a thorn
Your blood must flow into my veins.”
‘Death is a great price to pay for a red rose’,
Cried the Nightingale in ecstasy.
It soared in the air
To cheer the boy down in despair,
But he fathomed not the message.
The bird flew to the rose tree
And sang wildly
As deeply the thorn pierced the heart
To draw the blood
To colour the rose,
Gradually the voice grew fainter
As the thorn choked its throat
And the bird fell on the grass,
The red rose is complete by then.
With surprise the boy looked out
He laughed and cried
To see his dreamy red rose.
He plucked and rushed to the girl
To fulfil her kept promise
She frowned and said,
“I am afraid, it wouldn’t go with my dress”.
Dejected the boy threw the rose
In the gutter,
“what a silly thing love is”
He thought and walked away.
In his room, he pulled out a dusty book
From the shelf and began to read.

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