The Fable of the Nightingale and the White Rose
A Persian fairy-tale.

There once lived a nightingale, who could sing more beautifully than any other creature in Persia. Each night, those rare few who were blessed enough to hear the nightingale's song were brought to tears by the magnificence of his voice. But even though he had such a lovely voice, he was unhappy, for he was very ugly and had lived his long life in complete loneliness.

One night while the nightingale flew, he saw a glimmer of porcelain white reflecting the moonlight from amidst thornbushes. Curious, the nightingale landed amongst the thorns. (For all know that the nightingale is not afraid of thornbushes; it is well known that the nightingale once had only one eye, and stole the singular eye of the Slow Worm, and now must press thorns against his chest and sing all night to stay awake, lest the Slow Worm catch him.)

When the nightingale began to sing, the white thing fluttered. Moving closer, he found nestled amongst the thorns a flawless white rose. Immediately struck by her immaculate beauty, the nightingale began to sing of his love to her. The rose's petals trembled, but did not open.

"Allah has forbidden our love!" she told him, but he only sang more determinedly.

Every night the nightingale returned, singing from sunset to sunrise, and every night his song was more beautiful than the last. Every night the rose's petals trembled violently with her love for the nightingale and his song, but they did not open, for she knew that were her petals to bloom, she would soon die.

One night, after many weeks, the moon shone bright and full on the little thornbush. As the nightingale sang, the rose's petals began to tremble so violently that she seemed ready to burst. He flew down to her, and wrapped his wings around the frail rose as if to protect her. In his rush to do so, his chest was thrust against her thorns, and they pierced deep into his heart.

"You have bled for me!" she cried, and in reward of the nightingale's sacrifice, her petals bloomed for him.

Upon the rising of the sun, the nightingale sang his final tune, and breathed his final breath, and then fell to the ground beside his precious rose. The rose wilted and withered, her petals falling to the ground around the body of the nightingale.

A single seed, however, landed amidst their remains, and a tiny green stalk began to grow, for from their forbidden, perfect love had been born the blood-red rose that Allah had never intended the world to know.