I looked about my windowsill,
and there a lovely whippoorwill,
stood and sang a lovely tune,
about my birthday coming June,

Out in the middle of a real nowhere,
where the light is gently falling,
dark come soon as night comes in,
as birds so sweetly calling,

Mosquitoes bite in summer time,
this place can be quite hot,
but staying in would be a crime,
while getting out is not,

For now the lovely whippoorwill,
who sings the lonesome way,
amidst the frozen earthly loam,
and branches in decay,

I sit alone to hear that song,
the whippoorwill, my heart,
take me back to yesterday,
I rise again to start,

Just like a cancer born in June,
the whippoorwill he loves the Moon
He calls her from a lovely perch,
a tall and sturdy silver birch,

I hope to hear him once come Spring
on his flight his love he bring,
so many songs he knows to sing,
on whippoorwill and tiny wing,
a sweet and soulful little thing,

I close my eyes as I applaud,
his lovely voice entrances me,
& in his voice I'm truly awed,
staring not a choice I see,

Endangered in this place I love,
the whippoorwill, a dearest bird,

Please do your part to save the Earth,
I hope his lovely voice is heard.

Cherie Nolan © 2016