Man with the banjo

Kumbaya my lord,
That old folk song you used to sing,
Under the willow tree.
Strumming that old banjo
With your weary fingers.

Kumbaya my lord,
you sang as the night settled.
The woods gathered in the day,
Were set ablaze.
By the fire you sat,
Singing that familiar old song.

Kumbaya my lord.
The birds had gone into hiding,
The sounds of the crickets permeated the air.
The children gathered around you,
The glowing fire reflected in their eyes.
Enchanted they watched,
As you strummed and sang
Kumbaya my lord.

Kumbaya my lord.
The night grew darker,
The children's eyes were hazy.
It is time for bed,
Their mothers called.
When they were gone,
Alone you sat,
Still singing that song.

Kumbaya my lord.
You waited till the stars were out,
Under the willow tree,
You put down that old banjo,
With your arms behind your head,
You watched them twinkle,
Till dawn came and stole them away.

Kumbaya my lord
You hummed.
And slung that old banjo across your back,
Walking away from that willow tree,
Which had been your home for a night,
And disappeared into the morning mist.