seems so long since I've heard a whip-poor-will
that I can scarce recall the sound
takes me back to a time when you loved me still
we lay on our backs on the ground...
and the stars up above were a witness to love
the wind sighed in sweet harmony
to the whip-poor-will's call when I pledged you my all
and you promised you'd always love me
spring faded to fall... the wild goose call
was my reason to wander and roam
to seek my fortune and fame
so you could proudly wear my name
while the whip-poor-will sane 'round our home.
I don't know how I survived when that letter arrived
and I saw that it was edged in black
"Blll; your darling is dead...".. were the words that I read
and all of my dreams were crushed by this fact
it seems so long since I've heard that sad ('ol) whip-poor-will
yet it seems the one sound I crave...
still the memories burn, (perhaps) one day I'll return
to stand, hat in hand; at her grave
I'll leave this dirty old town... sirens and factory sounds
for that little church yard on the hill
through my tears and pain... perhaps hear, once again...
the song of that sad whip-poor-will.
... well ... .this is an old timer; and yet the previous tune put me in mind of it; and by rare happenstance I could lay hand on it. From an old ledger that I transcribed some notebooks into while visiting my pal Rob Loree some time back. A 'co-write' as it turns out. ; with 'Washboard' Hank Fisher; himself a serious student of old time music. This ballad follows time honoured tradition and theme; as would the arrangement;were it ever to be recorded.