Richard Shindell


from Careless

Gather round now children
Leave your happy play
Gather round my beloved ones
And hear what I must say

It wounds me to the marrow
To bring this news to you
To bring you to this table
And serve such bitter, bitter fruit

Abbie’s gone to the country children
Abbie’s gone away
Abbie’s gone to the country children
And it is there that she must stay

Abbie is a wild one
She cannot be contained
She was never one for the city life
With its cement and walls and chains

She needs room to wander
Wherever she may stray
Anywhere her legs might take her
On her natural way


Now she’s running cross a field
Behind her trusty nose
Sure-footed and on the trail
Of a prize only heaven knows


updated: 3 years ago