A Dream of a Shepherd
I saw a sheep man
Unsure of how to hold
His staff of St. Patrick
The field where he stood in confusion
Was familiar in its unnatural
Greenness, an emerald of dreams
Smeared clouds were corralled
By a solitary tear shed
From this shepherd’s fatherland
A dabble of yellow
A small wildflower patch
Luring the eye to the beauty
Of the cozy picnic spot
Where an old woman committed
The crime of an illicit tryst
An art form of the easier ages
Gone, her laurel in the wind
Returning now as a haunting
This lonely field
With its stormy bleating
Settling in the pit of his belly
He bellowed toward the mountains,
Kings that hid his mother
And his burden of disappointment
His regret was drifting from him,
All his lost ones
So he abandoned the staff,
The responsibility and shame
As the sheep dissipated
And rain finally satiated the petals
Image by Thanasis Papazacharias from Pixabay
Thistle Thoughts 