Nin sat in the thicket without much to do, and without much on his mind. He was just about ready to turn in for an early evening when he heard the song of a nightingale pierce through the darkening night:

Ignore me! Ignore me!
I sing of the rising moon
Hear me describe the pale glow, the timeless presence!

And Nin looked up and saw a particularly beautiful moon. It was waning, framed by the thin wisps of backlit clouds. He took a moment to admire its magnificence. He was just about to go and thank the nightingale when it began to sing a second verse:

Ignore me! Ignore me!
If you find beauty in my lyrics this is a failing;
the beauty is in the moon!

It is a beauty you could detect with your own senses,
if you were not distracted by my song!

But isn’t this the paradox?
If my voice were not sweet, you would not listen
If you did not listen, you would not see the moon

I can only ask you not to linger on my song!
I say again: Ignore me! Ignore me!

Nin thought this was very hypocritical of the nightingale and grew very cross. “Shut up!” he cried. “If you actually believed what you sang, you’d simply say, ‘the moon is very beautiful tonight!’ and leave it at that. The rest is vanity!”

The nightingale shot Nin a dirty look and flew away. Bitter at being called out so callously, he began work on what would come to be considered his masterpiece, a symphony titled “The Very Rude Rabbit.”