for many years they've come to schwenksville
crowding the streets to camp on the hill.
life is brought to the Old Pool farmfields;
pitch the tents and shrug off the suit shields.
they've come to sing these grasslands alive
guarding traditions that will survive
with guitars, violins, flutes and song.
while the beat dances to the crowd strong.
for many years city people leave
their orderly days to hear minstrels weave
tales of love and loss set to music
with strummings old, new, and exotic.
over the bridge that arcs a small creek
to the concert area and seek
a good spot for a blanket hoedown;
they come from uptown, downtown, hometown.
dress is casual, sunblock crucial;
campsites range from fancy to frugal.
hand claps, toe taps, knee slaps to the beat;
musicians drum, hum, strum in the heat.
for many years the keepers of song
have come to schwenksville to play along.
with stories in their mouths and a spark
in their hearts, that burns into the dark.
in the years ahead this tradition
will survive, that will be their mission.
simple melodies and rhythms play,
the spirit of folksong will not stray.
