Bird singing after midnight

I thought it was a nightingale, but why should I be disappointed if all that forlorn threnody was only a robin, afraid the night might never end.

Author: Stephen Moran

I was born in Dublin and made my way to London on a bike in my mid-twenties. It’s where I can still be found though ever further out, most recently as far as Harrow. I no longer own a bicycle.

One thought on “Bird singing after midnight”

  1. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool\’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene


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