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Baby Sheep

One night, a baby sheep asked his mother a question:
“mommy, where’s daddy?”
The mother sheep with tears in her eyes
knew the answer, but hesitated to supply.

“mommy,” the baby sheep said.
“Son, Daddy Has Gone to Another Pasture.”
“is that where the other daddies went?” the baby sheep asked.
“Yes, Son, Beware of The Shepherd’s Crook,” the mother sheep said,
as her tears began to simmer inside.

“the shepherd’s—what?”
“The Crook, Son, The Shepherd’s Crook.”

A transient immobility came between son and mother.
purity marching with WISDOM,
And then the fated query:

“will we ever see daddy again?” the baby sheep asked.
“I Don’t Know, Son! Ask Our Current Shepherd;
He Dwells on The big, green Hill in His big, white Farm,” the mother sheep said.

Snowflake

From the Heavens you fall,
Innocent and morally pure
Like Adam and Eve before the Fall.
Unlike them—you will commit no sin,
But you will suffer like us all!
Unfortunately your beauty may not
Bloom where red roses do,
So stick to whomever you can,
For Mother Nature can be very cold
And condemn from across the land.

Fret not—time is fleeting everyman;
Writers’ know this best: our words may
Remain frozen only as long as your beauty,
But unfortunately for us, you know nothing of this.
Envy!

We are that God designed such a masterpiece:
You are frozen by will not choice.
Your life ends before it begins.
Wilson Bentley, the snowman, claimed,
’No two snowflakes are ever the same.’
Aren’t mortals the same?
Should we be so jealous of your life?
Since your time on earth, depends on
When the Sun kiss will arrive.
Although your time on earth will be short and brief, Your design will never repeat.
As you turn to water, do not wonder!
Leave that for us, humans, to ponder.
For when we melt, apart of us surrenders—
Records of human art or a damp spot,
Transparent like the next fallin’ flake.

Feline Friend

Baby, feline friend of the Nile,
Heliopolis’ eyes shine for you brightly;
As your Libyan ancestors rest tightly,
With shove in hand, I must file,
Away my sadness from this pile.
Cold earth fills your soul nightly;
Please meow or purr for me softly!
Queen must you lay in your bile?
Yet, I know the answer lays place.
In a world with Slick near,
Play, Hunt, Run, Lick, Drink:
For I will one day see your face,
As I will be with you high in cheer.
Until then—your shoulder has time to thank

 

© All Copyright, Patrick Wilson.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.