Bees in Amber, page 19 by John Oxenham
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In stall and byre and fold.
And the dogs and I, by the blazing fire,
Care nought for the snow and the cold.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
The barns are bursting with their store
Of grain like yellow gold;
A full, fat year has brought good cheer,
--Black is the night and cold.--
But ... What care I for teeming barns?
And what care I for gold?
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
In the great kitchen, maids and men,
--Black is the night and cold--
Laugh loud and long, with jest and song,
And merry revel hold.
Let them laugh and sing, let them have their fling,
But for me--I am growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
The old house moans, and sighs and groans,
--Black is the night and cold--
We have seen brave times, you and I, old friend,
But now--we are growing old.
We have stood foursquare to many a storm,
But now--we are growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
Her mother sleeps on the hill out there,
--Black is the night and cold,--
She is free from care, she is happier there,
Beneath the warm brown mould.
And I've sometimes hoped they may have met,
And the end of the tale be told.
_Ah ... where is our lamb--
Our one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
Was that a branch that shed its load?
--Black is the night and cold,--
Or--was it a footstep in the snow--
A timid footstep--halting, slow?
Ah me! I am getting old!
Is that a tapping--soft and low?
Can it be ... I thought I heard ... but no,
'Twas only a branch that shed its snow,--
God's truth! I am getting old!
_For I thought ... maybe
It was my lamb