It happened because the nightingale

It happened because the nightingale

sang the whole night long;

from her sweet call,

from the echo and re-echo,

roses have sprung up.

She was but recently a wild blossom,

and now she walks, deep in thought;

she carries her summer hat in her hand,

enduring quietly the heat of the sun,

knowing not what to begin.

It happened because the nightingale

sang the whole night long;

from her sweet call,

from the echo and re-echo,

roses have sprung up.