Author Information
CAMPFIRE
When the embers of the campfire
burn low and spread their light
I love to sit around and listen
to the folk tales in the night
I love to hear the cowmen talking
of their lives of long ago
and to eat camp stew and corn bread
and to hear the cattle low
and to hear the picking of the guitars
thats a sad and lonely sound
with the singing of a cowboy
'bout a love he hasn't found
I love to hear the cracking of the cow whips
as they practice in the pen
and the smell of saddle leather
an the horses in the pen
and you hear in the scrub, the scurrying
and the sound of little feet
and when you shine your light upon them
a coon will make his fast retreat
There would be old scrub oaks just a waving
and the pine trees straight and tall
and the bright light of the moon beams
as they shine on one and all
all the friendship and the laughter
and an old harmonica's wail
and the ghost stories you'd be hearing
sure would make you weak and pail
a whippoorwill hoots up in the tree
just above your head
and watches us with curious eyes
as we roll up into bed
Oh how happy we were way back then
on an old time cattle drive
when the clanging of a dinner bell
makes your glad that you're alive
and the memories of my childhood
is a good and loving thing
of dear friends and special places
that would cause your heart to sing
