The Backroads
I used to ride the old backroads
When they still were made of red clay
I used to ride the old backroads
Each night at the end of the day
Moonlight was filtered through the pine
As the fireflies lit up the night
The midnight train gave out its whine
As it pulled with all of its might
Whippoorwills sang their lonely song
As crickets buzzed to find a mate
The breeze was cool and nights were long
As I walked through the old iron gate
What is not there that used to be?
Just me,my friend - alas, just me.
4/12/2017
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