The
Shepherd dwells;
He goes by the name of Soul.
He goes by the name of Soul.
His
flock he tends night and day,
Feeding it wholesome thoughts;
By night however it craves the Wolf.
Feeding it wholesome thoughts;
By night however it craves the Wolf.
The Wolf when bid will come,
Will snap and snarl and use winsome words
To gather some, if not all, the flock.
His teeth, a case of knives,
Also wound and prick the Shepherd,
Yet do not despite their efforts kill him.
The Shepherd has tried everything
To dispel the Wolf:
Fire and sacrifice and prayers.
Soul has even visualised
His abode as a bony Palace
Fit for the Holy Lord.
But only the Sun, by his light,
Scatters the Wolf
And rebellions of the night.
Picture credit: Shepherd tending his flock, Jean-Francois Millet (source: WikiArt).
A weaving of words with George Herbert, written April 2021.
