Whippoorwill

Whipoorwill; Root “D”

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In my little cabin home in the mountains all alone.
I sit out on the front porch about dark
And listen to the shrill of the lonely whip-or-will
It’s a sound that almost breaks my heart

When the whip-o-will calls, in the cool of the evening.
I’ll be thinking of you, and probably grieving.
And remembering, all of the good times.
When you and I were young, and you were really mine

In my mind I can see, sitting somewhere in the trees.
A lonely bird calling for his mate.
And listening intently for a call from another tree,
And hoping that the call won’t come too late.

When the whip-o-will calls, in the cool of the evening.
I’ll be thinking of you, and probably grieving.
And remembering all of the good times.
When you and I were young, and you were really mine

I wonder what that bird does, if he never hears that call.
Does he sit alone and continue there to wait.
Or does he fly away to a tree in another place,
Where he’ll sit again and call for another mate

When the whip-o-will calls, in the cool of the evening.
I’ll be thinking of you, and probably grieving.
And remembering, all of the good times.
When you and I were young, and you were really mine......