Standing, unmoved

Motionless, staring


By the nightingale's voice.

Or was it her beauty?

There she was, shining in glorious simplicity

Ivory skin contrasting with the dimness of the room

The unmistakable sheen of a steady stream of jet-black hair

Ebony eyes staring vaguely, looking

Into her lone spectator

Standing frozen

His heart taken by her song

Held captive by her beauty.