And I Her Lamb

If sanity be a shepherd,
and we his lambs,
then lead us to the water,
so we can be nourished again.

The mountains wind,

roughly carved,
steep and statuesque,
yet, manageable in flock.

The showers come down to pour,

churning the cliff into mudslides.
Our wool is soaked through, drenched,
and our hooves are sculpted brown clay.

Weary and selflessly,

we travel as one,
hind to head, and head to hind,
always supporting each other’s weight.

Seeking shelter from the storm,

the shepherd clicks his staff.
And the flock follows,

but I stray…and I stray,

for I know my own way
because I am my shepherd.
I am her lamb.