The Shepherds Song

Wild are her songs, wild are her imaginations

For in the midst of hungry bleating sheep

She could make songs that lift the soul


Taste of dew on the morning grass excites the herd

So that they call out in ecstatic joy to the shepherd

And she, noting the excitement, played hee wooden guitar

Caressing the instrument, singing with the herd her song

Of maah’s, and bleats occasioned with minutes of silence

The grass is soft, so are the shepherds palms upon the guitar

The quiet riverside is calm, the herd listen in wonder

So when she stroke the chords, the sheep call out in ecstasy

And with a soft voice she made them cosy,

Her songs talk of the golden fields of grass in Heaven

It sang of sweet pasture hidden behind the mountains

Where no man, shepherd and flock ever set foot on

And how the fields glitter in the warm heat of the sun

In the shepherds songs, she restates her love for the flock

Believing someday, the herd will see the fields of joy

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