The Hawk and the Nightingale

The nightingale sang from the top of the tall oak, just as he did every evening. His small throat shook. His song went up and down through the leaves.

A hawk was flying over, and he had not eaten all day. He heard the song. He saw a small brown shape on the branch. Down he came out of the sky, and his claws closed round the little bird.

"Oh, please!" cried the nightingale. "Let me go! Look at me. I am so small. One bite, and you would still be hungry." He could feel the claws. He talked faster. "You are a great hawk. You ought to hunt great birds! There are fat ones out there, far bigger than me. Go after those!"

The hawk held on tight. He turned his head and looked at the sky. It was empty. Not one bird was in sight.

"I would be a fool," he said, "to let go of the dinner in my claws and chase a dinner I cannot even see."