Black Sheep

"Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Have you any wool?" "That I have, my Master, Three bags full." One is for the mother who prays for me at night— A gift of broken promises to count by candle-light. One is for the tried friend who raised me when I fell— A gift of weakling's tinsel oaths that strew the path to hell. And one is for the true love—the heaviest of all— That holds the pieces of a faith a careless hand let fall. Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Have you ought to say? A word to each, my Master, Ere I go my way. A word unto my mother to bid her think o' me Only as a little lad playing at her knee. A word unto my tried friend to bid him see again Two laughing lads in Springtime a-racing down the glen. A word unto my true love—a single word—to pray If one day I cross her path to turn her eyes away.