Upon the sandbank perches an ebony bird, Concealed within the cloak of night's embrace. We find respite upon its feathery back, As it soars amidst turmoil, sorrow, and lost paths.

The azure and golden nocturne alters its tune, Transforming into a somber harmony of gray. Within May's lamentations, hope and despair meet their demise, A sight seldom witnessed, Yet none deem it a marvel to be enthralled by.

They delight in plucking their own soiled plumage, Agonizingly, Drifting alongside the current's flow. Blind to the reefs, they learn to disregard, As well as the nimble deer that gracefully leap along the shore.