Fly-Fly
Nightingale song in an evergreen tree,
Calls out to her mate so strong of wing,
Fly . . . Fly
Fly, Fly to me.
5 So tiny her nest but soft and neat,
Cradle the eggs beneath her feet,
Fly . . . Fly
Fly, Fly some day.
Her chicks once so fragile have now fully grown,
10 Calling for mates and a nest of their own,
Fly . . . Fly
Fly, Fly away.
This once proud 'gale, still lovely to sight,
Sits alone in her nest and softly she sighs,
15 Don't fly . . . Fly
Fly, Fly away.
Come back, come back,
Come back to me. Stay.
Brian K. Eddy
Ever since the wholesale death of the Family Home, when three or more generations might live under the same roof, the great dreadful truth of our elders existing in lonely despair has cursed our land. What a pitiful sight is an aged matron living alone; children never coming to see her. And she almost begs for someone to bring light back into her life.
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