The Whippoorwill

In the dark of night the whippoorwill cries As it flitters beneath the night’s blue sky Master of camouflage. Heard, seldom seen Is searching for woodland insects to glean Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! The nightjar trills As it glowers and swoops down for the kill Insects traversing the forest take heed For the mottled bird has tremendous speed It nests on the ground, it perches in trees It’s gray-brown plumage the color of leaves Up at dawn, at dusk, and on moonlit nights Brindled bird rests with the coming of light Tiny bird with a magnanimous shrill Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! The nightjar trills