one by one I lead my word-sheep on
it's almost always april here
the small lambs bleat about the place
I call my poem and they are happy to be poem sheep here
because, touched by Grace
whether or not you may like the poem - or not-
my sheep know
that over the silver hills in the moonlight glow
I will lead them safely, softly home
and home shines like a pearl
near at hand as much as it does
a land at great distance from us now.
mary angela douglas 27 june 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment