City Night Flight

Soft Summer sun sinks slowly down,
Finding that place, below the ground.
Revitalizing for another day,
As the night bird stretches and flies on it's way.

The beautiful Bird stops, sings, then goes on,
Giving snatches of it's gentle night song
To lovers walking in the park,
Away from the lights and into the dark.

The song reaches the tramp on the street,
The poor guy half drunk, cold and dead beat,
He raises an unsteady hand, saluting the bird,
Small pleasure to him, out of all he has heard.

The song passes him by, as the bird flies overhead,
As the cold wind blows, he curls in his bed
of cardboard and newspaper sheets,
Cheap booze, firey liquor, his body fasley heats.

Nightingale alights, on a statue of stone,
Bodaciea with her chariot, rides all alone.
She hears not the gentle song of the night,
But stares with blind eyes at a long gone fight.

Down in the square, the traffic roars,
The song is not heard by the street whores,
Nor by the pimps, the muggers and theives,
Or any of those feinds who lurk below the eves.

Written by Matthew, not sure when