Sunday, May 29, 2011

The Flock

They sit on Sunday morning all in rows,
Just close enough to nod, to touch, to talk.
The old ones graze,
the youngest scamper loudly.
They are the sheep, the lambs.
They are the flock.
It's been a fearsome week for some of them;
They've seen a wolf;
they've heard his howls at night..
And others suffered pain--they still endure it--but they smile and push the agony aside.
The headstrong try the fences, never settled.
The wounded hide from the balms they badly need.
My job is still to tend them, teach them, love them.
His mandate was that simple: Feed my Sheep.

8 comments:

Old Altonian said...

Nice poem, and the work of the Good Shepherd is never finished.

jaerose said...

Wonderful woven words..a weave of metaphor and imagery..also quite an English scene of those sheep in the field..and I know you are on the otherside of the world..i love the strength in this piece..strong as a sheep's will..Jae

Cynthia E. Bagley said...

lovely. Cyn

Laurie Kolp said...

Powerful... love the ending!

Templeton's fury said...

nicely done.

Dee Martin said...

Wonderful analogies - I love this one :)

Kate said...

a very good analogy, well written.

withgraceandgratitude said...

I love this! I think this is my favorite post for the week. And I can imagine very well both the literal sheep and the church-folk anaolgy. So true either way. Thanks for visiting mine today. I really love your post!