Sheep So Docile Graze
When eyes which once gave glances of sweet love
Now send such cruel reproaches to my heart;
When grace uncalled for descended like a dove
But now with pain my skin,once kind, does smart....
At times these days of grief and loss seem harsh
As if some demon owns my inmost heart.
And without grace my lips are dry and parched..
with fear I shiver,tremble and I start.
Shall I attempt retaliation for this hurt?
What weapon shall I use to vent my rage?
my lips were never fashioned to be curt.
My soul,no warrior eager war to wage
How shall I find my way out of this maze,
back to green fields where sheep so docile graze?
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