While sheep may safely graze in lush green fields,|
when rain falls not, they're often fed by hand,
we keep a watch for oh their rich fleece yields
our main supply of income from this land.
Such silly, bleating creatures, ovine beasts,
they wander off and part from rest of fold
to fill their bellies at a greener feast
upon the pastures of a field of gold.
Over the fence where grass is ever green,
the shepherd goes to find wandering sheep.
They err but yet the shepherd's surely seen
and kept them safe when all the flock's asleep.
He follows up the lost ones of the flock
Wolf swallows not the weaklings in his stock.
© 2018 cherryk
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