When We Were Shepherds

When We Were Shepherds


Well, we weren’t the best.
We merely needed
fleece. Were the sheep bred?
Yes. Fed? Frequently.
Yet they grew depressed.

Wherever they went,
bellwethers, rebels,
they preferred elsewhere.
(They’d never even
left west Tennessee.)

They deserved better.

Hence we levelled trees,
extended fences,
pledged fresh scenery:
when the creek melted
there’d be plenty weeds.

We sweetened them, see.
Were they restless? Yes—
they knew they weren’t free—
yet the center held.
We were very blessed.

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