I had a dream after dozed off while reading The Happy Prince and The Nightingale and The Rose by Oscar Wilde:
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The prince asked the nightingale, "Why do you love to sing?"
"What a strange question," the bird said with a soft voice, "What else could I do?"
"You can talk - you should talk. Come, tell me all about what you saw in Egypt, how people of this city live, and everything about a red rose."
"Your Highness, that's exactly why I do not want to talk. If I have to tell you what I see and what I know - the flood of Nile, the bullet that poor people are biting, and the rose thorn with my blood dripping on - I would rather hum a folk song."
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