A Pastoral Lament by John Wood
A Pastoral Lament
for my friend, Keith Gates
Sweet singing shepherd boy, why have you ceased
To make your songs, and who now tends your sheep?
Have you run off to fields more bright and blest
And left us here to weep?
We wished more time to hear your psalms.
They set so sweet upon our hearts.
Honey of hope and sorrow's balms,
Those were the measures of your arts.
Our singing boy, he now has fled
The fields of grass and flesh to tend
His flocks where pains are shed
And music will not end.