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I Can Still Hear The Whip poor wills

The bank took ole'man Copelands farm,
the cows they no longer roam.
They raped the land.then sliced it up,
and stacked in mobile homes.

We used to count the stars at night,
they were endless,when the sky was clear.
Now their all lost in the warehouse lights,
almost four miles from here.

The city keeps creeping closer,it feels
faceless and grey.
Whittling me down till I feel all is lost,
and my being melts away.

But I can still hear the whip-o-wills,
so I know that there's still hope.
Yes,I can still hear the whip-o-wills,
their lonesome song helps me to cope.

I can still hear the whip-o-wills,
God grant their song always be.
For as long as I can hear the whip-o-wills,
I am still free.

Copyright © Chase Brown | Year Posted 2019


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  1. Date: 1/29/2019 11:40:00 PM

    G'day Chase … sadly the world over, the urban sprawl is driving whatever is close to our hearts away. Enjoyed your rhyming poem - Lindsay