Song of a Psalm

God, I’m not a shepherd boy,

And I don’t want to be a king

But I take some comfort,

That you up on those hills,

Still regarded him,

Playing his harp,

And skinning wolves,

(While the pack assembles,

Back at the farm)

Singing songs,

Into the air, and to your ear

No one else,

To either care or hear,

You saw him,

You heard him,

You whispered into his ear,

'My goodness shall be on your tail,

For the rest of your days

And then I’ll take you in,

To live with me,

And that is how it will always be,

Ever after',

 

Perhaps you see me too,

 

And though I am scared to death of wolves,

I also sing,

And write this verse for you.