lonesome whipperwhil

the sounds of the stage are too loud for the quietness of what you have to say
the whipper-whil has no such platform for it's lonesome call
only a crooked branch rising and falling in the breeze
like a ship on the brooding sea
like the upturned slant of burdened eyes
heavy moods
dark and sleepless submersion into
dark and hap-less bottles

you have sobbing hymns
songs that gray the colors of night
or rather deepen the blues

and nourish the seed of some
weepish
willow



"Hear that lonesome whippoorwill?
He sounds too blue to fly.
The midnight train is whining low:
I'm so lonesome I could cry.

I've never seen a night so long,
When time goes crawling by.
The moon just went behind a cloud,
To hide its face and cry.

Did you ever see a Robin weep,
When leaves begin to die?
That means he's lost his will to live.
I'm so lonesome I could cry.

The silence of a falling star,
Lights up a purple sky.
And as I wonder where you are,
I'm so lonesome I could cry.
I'm so lonesome I could cry. "

-Hank Williams Sr.