Washington
He played by the river
when he was young.
He raced with rabbits
along the hills,
He fished for minnows,
and climbed and swung,
And hooted back at the
whippoorwills.
Stronger and slender,
and tall he grew--
And then, one morning,
the bugles blew.
Over the hills the summons
came,
Over the rivers shining
rim.
He said that the bugle
called his name,
He knew his country
needed him,
And he answered, Coming!
and marched away
For many a night and
many a day.
Perhaps when the marches
were hot and long
He'd think of the river
flowing by
Or, camping under the
winter sky,
Would hear the whippoorwills
far-off song.
Working or playing,
in peace or strife,
He loved America all
his life!
Nancy Byrd Turner
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