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 Whippoorwil.
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 Whippoorwil.

Cars and trucks up and down the new highway
Have an unforgiving noise that never goes away
I guess for me like the Bobwhite quail and Whippoorwil
I to will soon be no more, and my voice also still