Wednesday, July 11, 2007

My sheep know my voice...."

Steadfast in the shepherd's crook
He calls his sheep by name
They come to him when he calls
Their master or his dame
The shepherd watches all the lambs
The children of the sheep
When stars come out and night falls
The master will not sleep
He remains upon his stilts
Made from oaken trees
The hunt is on lurking in shadows
Under the guise of the breeze
When gnashing teeth appear upon
To pierce his sheep's wool
The master shepherd faithfully comes
With lightening speed he wields his tool
Upon the heads of his enemies
In deterence of their plight
This yew shall live until he'd old
His wool no longer white
But for a wound and not much more
Than a pinch to flesh and fleece
His ram resides at his shepherd's side
To bleat in untouched peace

© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

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