David's Lament For Abasolom
DAVID’S LAMENT (FOR ABSALOM)
What voice is that beneath the wild thorn trees,
Where birds go up and broken branches swing?
Ah, words out of a dead mouth cannot reach
The ears of a waiting king!
And the frightened mule runs on alone,
Oh, Absalom, my son, my son!
Behold! And what a vision here I see
Before the frightened animal is met–
A figure hangs upon a tree,
With head befouled and bloody yet!
And the frightened mule runs on alone
Oh, Absalom, my son, my son!
It is a dreadful thing to lose
A son and heir so featured and so young,
And were it given me a head to choose
Mine own beneath that bough was hung!
But the frightened mule runs on alone,
Oh, Absalom, my son, my son!
Let him who thinks this death were somehow fair,
Let him give over kith and kin
To dangle upright by a hair
And be an awful plaything to the wind!
And the frightened mule runs on alone,
Oh, Absalom, my son, my son!
I see the coming ages yet unborn
Where kings from out my house take their stride–
And all within are capped by a crown of thorn
And bloodied at the side!
But the frightened mule runs on alone,
Oh, Absalom, my son, my son!
Copyright © Jack Peachum | Year Posted 2021
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