Songs We Like to Sing
Gone are my friends from the cottonfields away;
Gone from the earth to a better land, I know,
I hear their gentle voices calling,
"Old Black Joe."
I'm coming, I'm coming,
For my head is bending low;
I hear those gentle voices calling,
"Old Black Joe!"
Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain?
Why do I sigh that my friends come again,
Grieving for forms now departed long ago?
Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
The children so dea, that I held upon my knee?
Gone to the shore where my soul has long'd to go,
© 1999, Lynn Waterman