Listen now, upon the hill
Can you hear the whippoorwill?
Listen to the quite verse, listen to its song
Open your ears, your heart, through the strident throng
There is a world outside of this world in which we live, in a forest of trees, where the Whippoorwill resides, a world within a world we feel, to hear, to know, or is it too still?
Maybe it’s the walls, barricades, fences and hedges that surround us, tall and deep
The world appears to have abandoned those feelings that seem to want to seep
Yes, they ooze, and puddle on the ground, in tears, when no one
The Whippoorwill tells us a tale, she tells us to fly, lift your feet up off
Speak to me, oh, speak to me. I’ll try again, and listen as she speaks to me
Will you listen too, or will you only hear a bird whispering in a forest of trees?