The Sylvan orchestra delights the ear,
As the wondrous songs of nature we hear,
Soothing our troubled hearts,
With the peace that it imparts.
In our youth we were attuned more,
To nature's vast musical store,
For with age comes the senses demise,
And a loss of childhood wonder we realize.
I wonder why the birds are so optimistic,
And why their songs never seem to be sad?
Why do the birds never seem pessimistic,
But always seem to be happy and glad?
The secret the birds seem to know,
About how to be happy everyday,
For they sing everywhere they go,
Even when skies are dark and gray.
I was just a little child then,
When the night bird sang to me,
And if only I could hear it again,
How wonderful that would be.
It was called the night hawk or whippoorwill,
And with it's song the countryside rang,
But now the nights are lonely and still,
Not like when the night bird sweetly sang.
At first I thought it was a dream,
For so beautiful it did sing;
From a dream or paradise it did seem,
Not from this world could such beauty ring.
Then from my doorway I did spy,
A tiny yellow bird in the tree,
Which suddenly then away did fly,
Leaving the lonely silence again for me.
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