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In a distant valley burrowed deep, beyond tall passes and mountains steep.
There lives an old man; grey-bearded heap, who daily guides his flock of sheep.

Through many meadows and fields, they bleat, resting only for a lengthy time of sleep.
Recalling distant memories hard to keep, he drifts off unknowingly to a mourning grief.

Dawn comes as birds outside sing or weep, for a man in woe finds beauty hard to seek.
Time goes on as distant bonds begin to sink, to a vast indifferent shell of a mind’s scrap heap.

He sees it through the trees and dim morning light, a different time when joy was kept close and tight.
When children’s laughter was cheerful and bright, a memory now tarnished by misery’s blight.

The moment disturbed by a bird’s sudden flight, a cause to look about for the face of a harrowing hallowed wight.
Seeing instead only a beloved lamb in plain sight, he gives a chuckle and shakes off the fright.

The sun rises tossing away the cold morning bite, bringing him to realize that all might be set right.
Should a mental winter come with snow cold and white, living through to journey’s end is worth the long hard fight.

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The featured image is courtesy of David Moum and is used with his kind permission for Cultivating and The Cultivating Project.

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