Monday, June 2, 2014

The Wild Flock

It must be rough
Watching us
In the upward climb.
Heads butt
And feet stray
From the path
You know is best.
And I am in this bunch.
Hazards too many
Because of our stiff necks
And crazy inclinations.
Because of the mean weather
And the skulking wolf.
A friend passed yesterday
We bleated our misery
Missing a member.
Feeling our vulnerability.
But your rod, Sir
And your staff
They comfort me
In strange ways.
And with you
It is mostly sunshine
And that high, lush plateau*
Will be attained.


(*Romans 8)