Abbie - Richard Shindell

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