Death of a Faun, by William Wootten

Hark at the shepherdess!
Then note her unbelievable distress
On finding how her much loved faun is dead.
She listened as the shepherds said
Her faun was mostly goat.
In her lap, she cradled the cut throat
And the horned head.
She would have cut the shepherds’ throats instead.
But now, the shepherds play
And sing into the far-too-hot midday.
They capture with their shady threnodies
The shepherdess upon her knees,
Whose tearing hands and wail have ceased
Lamenting for the boy and beast.
Under dark trees,
She cuts the pipes that shape her heart’s own ease.
Piero di Cosimo, the fight between the Lapiths and the Centaurs, National Gallery, London
A detail of “The fight between the Lapiths and the Centaurs” by Piero di Cosimo, the National Gallery, London