No More Whippoorwill by Richard Martin 429
I was born in the country 80 years ago.
Many days I spent behind a mule, making the garden grow
It didn’t seem like work back then
I’d work all day until my chores were at an end
In the late afternoon, I’d sit on my porch swing
Watching and listing to the birds sing
I’d watch until the sun brought long shows close
To me a pleasure that only the country knows
I’d sit and take in nature, which was all around me
And wonder at the beauty that others couldn’t see
I’d hear a Bobwhite quail and in the distance a Whippoorwill
I’d sit for hours, for all was quiet and all was still
Never dreaming that things could change so fast
I thought my way of life would always last
Now, when I sit on the swing in the late afternoon all is not still
There’s no more Bobwhite quail and no more Whippoorwill
Cars and trucks up and down the new highway
Have an unforgiving noise that goes away
I guess for me, like the Bobwhite quail and Whippoorwill
I to will be no more, and my voice will also still