In the twilight of a whispering breeze,
The nightingale starts her serenade.
Melodies weave through the gentle trees,
As stars in the heavens begin to cascade.

Her voice, a symphony of ancient lore,
Resonates in the heart of the still night.
Each note a tale, each chord an open door,
To realms where dreams take flight.

The forest listens, in rapturous delight,
To the harmony of her soulful song.
A chorus of echoes joins in the night,
Turning silence into music all night long.

As dawn approaches, her singing fades,
Yet the echoes linger in the morning dew.
A timeless melody the nightingale trades,
For the promise of dreams that will come true.