I watch my sheep in the meadow. I try not to remember the old days when I was blissfully married to the best of all men. I try not to remember the siren’s grip on him and the flood that divided us.
Tonight, the shepherd has taken out his flute. He is playing the sweet music that my own husband played. The old times flood back to me and I am overcome by their loss, but also by their beauty, and I don’t want him to stop. Play shepherd, play, for I only wish to remember….