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Ghostly tone of the potoo’s cry,
frost-thin air of the pale moonlight,
as all the living come to lie.

Follow the glow of the firefly
hear the gurgle of the cool stream’s flow,
ghostly tone of the potoo’s cry.

Walls of trees and velvety black sky
scents of pine and fallen leaves,
as all the living come to lie.

The soft pitter-patter of the deep dusk’s eyes
footsteps of deer and rustle of mice,
ghostly tone of the potoo’s cry.

Calm caress of the breeze’s chill sigh
flow through hair and brush past cheeks,
as all the living come to lie.

Lulled to a drowse by the night’s lullaby
soft it sings and gentle its touch,
ghostly tone of the potoo’s cry
as all the living come to lie.