by Paul Goodman
In the roomy oak among the fluttering leaves
and the shadows and the apertures in motion
where the nestling sparrows chirrup in commotion and hop about in fright,
and a voice grieves,
what is this golden moss that interweaves
the branches like an unaccustomed snare
dismaying birds and gleaming brilliantly?
Is it not human hair in the oak-tree?
Absalom hanging tangled by the hair
motionless even to the frightened stare!
Whom Joab like a fowler in the sun looming,
destroyed, spotting the green with blood;
and David, when at last he understood
the rumour, mourned: “O my son Absalom!”
he wept, “O Absalom, my son, my son!”
50 Collected Songs (high and low voice)
Composer(s): Ned RoremBuy via Sheet Music Plus