She, like Christ, finds the Sheep
In the slough: it's neck deep.
She grabs its horns and pulls
Dragging it up the knoll.
With every fiber she
Pulls with her might. The Sheep
Ought not fight. For to fight
Would trap her in its plight.
And then she drags the sheep
To the nearby, quick stream,
And in autumnal cold
She bathes the sheep, while clothed.
Then, she drags the sheep more
Atop the green pasture.
And there she lays to rest
With the sheep, by its head.
The Good Shepherd
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