I kick the earth beneath my feet
as I walk towards my flock of sheep.
Snow, it came in force last night
(my bedroom door was frozen tight).
Yet, as I woke, I thought of them.
How many did the cold condemn?
A shepherd? That I call myself.
Yet, I've laid my crook upon the shelf.
I read in tales of shepherds grand.
I'm no more a shepherd than a man.
I sleep in warmth and they in cold.
Of me, no stories shall be told.
And I do believe I am a fool.
I go on about "I am so cruel"
The pasture finds them sleeping well.
So quick to say what had befell.
No, I am no shepherd. I'm just a fool
Who forgot that sheep were dressed in wool.