Ode to Wolf
© 2012
Author: Herb Hartley
Back in in old Virgina, just across the country line.
Down beside the river, drinking Billy's home made wine
Hear the lonesome fiddle, as the sound, drifts through the trees
Smell the wood fire burning, on the cool evening breeze

Setting round the campfire, we all passed the jug around,
Good times with with some good friends while the sun is going down
Just to know one person, someone to call a friend
Making memories oh those good times we thought would never end

Can't you hear the high lonesome sound,
Mandolins and guitars, music from the mountains, music from the heart all around
To be taken much to early, from this world, we're heading home
One day we'll all be back together, and we can rest our weary bones

To some, his name was Jerry, he didn't judge you on how you look
To his friends, he was golden and we simply called him Wolf
We never though he'd leave so early and leave broken hearts behind.
He is loved by everybody, in our hearts and in our minds

May be gone but not forgotten, his music floating on the wind.
I have to stop and think about him, every time I hear a mandolin

Can't you hear the high lonesome sound,
Mandolins and guitars, music from the mountains, music from the heart all around
To be taken much to early, from this world, we're heading home
One day we'll all be back together, and we can rest our weary bones