Nightingale

Hello Florence,

How many times have I heard your voice, and wished I knew what you looked like?

Your footsteps have come to mean as much to me,
as your soothing hands over my bandaged eyes,
T'has been given a glimmer of hope, you see,
the sightless life that another man might despise.

The war has entrenched me to your care,
in the middle of shelling and retreat,
with carefree violence, shouts, and death to spare,
crowding about your stockinged feet.

I hope that I will live to see the day,
if not my eyes, then my breath at least,
and pray to thank you far away,
from the clutches of this hypocritical beast.

I do wish I knew what you look like,
and my wishes will forever come true,
for your being will be imprinted in mine,
mine heart, mine breaths, the remaining few.