The Shepherd’s Ewes





The shepherd forsaken, his dreams untrue

 

colored sullied red, wandering amidst the azure blue

 

sailing through the beautiful green ferrying

 

the fantasy wild, of a stranger heart, of the ewes’ moo,

 

of a curiosity restrained, of the songs undead yet lost

 

to passions uncrowned, bound to a mere cost

 

yet rising to enlighten and ask the soul,

 

Is this how destiny smells when it’s gray?

 

Is fantasy adamantine, or is it soft as clay?

 

Is grass greener where heart wanders off to?

 

Do the ewes moo on a dark misty day?”

 

seconds die in anticipation ’til the mayday

 

sun rises, to paint where the heart wanders off to,

 

for the haze true, stretches the miles few,

 

for when the shepherd rests and his ewes too,

 

they dream together of what was born of fantasy,

 

of grass more green and the azure more blue,

 

’til there is no color, ’til the nickels won’t stay

 

when the night masks the dying yellow ray,

 

the shepherd returns to the broken reigns,

 




the ewes wander, the ewes’ hopeful moo,

 

for the night promises when thy master brews,

 

“Someday, my wordless”

 

“Someday, the fantasy would wander off to,”

 

“to where our hearts rest, in a world of me and you”;

 

 


Image Source: Flickr.com


 


 

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