The dim sun slips adown the sky
That dies from gold to gray;
The homing birds that Southward fly
To my heart’s hailing make reply,
Piping “Good-bye, good-bye!”
Southward I turn my wistful eyes,
Southward, where all my treasure lies,
Whither the homing sparrow flies,
Piping, “Good-bye, good-bye!”
The chill blast sweeps the steely sky
That glooms a sullen gray;
Soft summer winds that Southward fly
To my soul’s sighing make reply
Breathing “Good-bye, good-bye!”
Southward I turn my longing eyes,
Southward my yearning spirit hies,
Whither or bird or zephyr flies
Sighing “Good-bye, good-bye!”
(Leigh Gordon Giltner)
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