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The Kona Nightingales
Pour me a coffee, I like it black. It's sweet aroma brings to mind Memories of the ones Who carried it on their backs, Traversing perilous mountain trails, Those untiring, unstoppable Kona Nightingales. Strange to happen upon such a name, Leaving plantation, crossing lava fields And fertile plain. Their voices seeming ever to complain, A grating sound, never melodious, not a wail, Still they call them The Kona Nightingales. Under many a seering sun, they brought us The coffee we love the best. Always remember them, Keep alive their tales. For they've earned it Those loveable, floppy-eared donkeys, The Kona Nightingales. |