When the whipperwill calls from the leaves of the willow tree,         
And the mocking bird is singing where the warm breezes play,
When the turtle dove weeps at the lonely of the evening,
And Bob White is crying, at the close of the day:

I am thinking of you and the days of the long ago,
When we wandered high and low the road to its end.
At the close of the day when I'm counting my treasure,
My heart is full of pleasure knowing you are my friend.