When the Shepherd Met his Wife…
By Rohini Chandra
Noel winds won’t stop this sylvan lad,
From warding dingoes with his crook’s flag,
For his nibbling billies along hillsides,
Dreading the holiday’s shearing of hide.
He is the Good Shepherd without lust,
Escaping the fury of the Gold Dust,
Handpicking berries off Araks in Tekoa,
As all prophets, Jesus, Moses, & Allah.
Oh how God comes in many ways,
Shining love through crepuscular rays!
So hear God’s call from the village church,
Where the youthful choir on its perch,
Croon to “Silent Night” in the dark alley.
There, our stag strolls from the valley.
With fresh chèvre and cider in hand,
Ready to gift villagers from his land,
To encounter a Christmas surprise,
With another set of twinkling eyes.
Behind the chandeliers of cedar trees,
His eyes meet a soul identical as he,
A bride, bright as an ornament can be.
The rest we know, is now history :)
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INSPIRATION - A trip to the local barn where goats are shepherded: