~*~ The Shepherd's Lament ~*~
{Cyrene's Dream}

I sat upon green, grassy hills,
Listening to the gentle trills
Of pipes that played a mournful song;
Their weeping tones for love since gone.
Wond'ring where such music birthed
I crept uphill and there unearthed
A shepherd whom I'd never seen,
But felt I knew, as from a dream.

His robes were frayed, threadbare, and worn,
The sandals 'pon his feet were torn.
His careworn eyes were filled with ache,
And mine own heart did yearn to break.
He noticed me in moment's stay,
And gestured me to come his way.
He bade me sit beside his tree;
His voice was soft in anguished plea:

"Sing to me, my sweetling fair,
To ease away this hurtful care.
Mine heart is dying by this pain,
But thy sweet voice is sorrow's bane.
Look gently to the skies above,
'Mind them not of Sorrow's love,
For what was found within her kiss
Did not end in joyful bliss."

For e'er so long his love was lost,
Amidst a storm, spurned and tossed,
So that he did raise pipes to play
This grievous song I sing today.
For there upon my Hold's green hills,
In mem'ry of those mournful trills,
That in my dreams did haunt me so,
I do still voice the shepherd's woe.

--LaRhonda Sanders