Are you there? Can you hear me? Somewhere near me?
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In the morning, long ago, had to hold you so close, had to never let go.
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Time on the river sliding on by. Hard to believe, wink of an eye.
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Where'd you go, Baby Buffalo? What's become of old Cotton Eyed Joe?
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Hold up, lying low, long gone come-a summertime snow.
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Talk to your doctor, making her rounds. Ninety-six tears, one thousand clowns.
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There they are, shining bright. True creation, pure delight.
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They go on, so do you. On and on, maybe me too.
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Long ago Baby Buffalo, what's become of old Cotton Eyed Joe?
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Hold up, lying low, long gone come-a summertime snow.
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Hold on to now till you have to let go. Easy through your fingers, ever so.
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I'm just guessing, I don't know. Maybe it's a blessing, I sure hope so.
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Baby Buffalo
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| James Taylor |
