By James J. Montague
Don’t you ever feel a yearnin’, ’long about this time o’ year,
For a robin’s song to tell you that the summer time is near?
Don’t you ever sort o’ hanker for the blackbird’s whistlin’ call,
Echoin’ through the hillside orchard, where the blossoms used to fall?
Don’t you wish that you were out there, breathin’ in the April air,
Full o’ glad an’ careless boyhood, an’ with strength an’ health to spare?
Don’t it hurt you to remember, when the springtime comes around,
How the first, long, rollin’ furrow used to wake the sleepy ground?
How’d you like to take the children, born to dirty city streets,