“Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me all the days of my life;
And I shall dwell in the house of
the Lord for ever.”
–Psalm 23
They have followed at a safe distance.
Would forging my trail have better served,
beating copper beeches with stout stick,
rousting out poacher and pickpocket,
parting dry grasses in pursuit of hidden snares?
Faith cannot grow in this poisoned soil.
In its place there has been woolgathering,
lollygagging and clucking of tongues
over total blows irretrievably death.
This bovine head cannot swivel nimbly enough
to discern even a scarlet-flagged approach.
My deaf ear has been turned so often,
no wonder their tandem strides elude me.
So from where does this ferocity stubbornly spring,
the absence of fear that defies all reason?
I have followed each signpost as it appeared,
rested when and where I could,
and eaten only when others have had their fill,
over time gathering wisdom despite myself–
build strong, learn fast and above all,
watch well, should goodness and mercy falter,
loose me swiftly from their capricious sight.