The nightingale and the rose

The Eastern, warming sun of London dawn bless these days the cursed who falls asleep in the couch. Oh! How lovely this big, burning orange of the Gods, pushing its way up at 6! The blessed who sleep properly will miss it. Before, around 4, the dark dwells outside... Is that bird singing a nightingale? It looks too many, but it can be just one: an unpaired, tireless little bird, singing in a score of sounds that "Love is like an ocean without a shore" (Raba'a). Listen, you! You, withered rose who wants to give up: Love is like an ocean without a shore.