When the plains are hard with frost,
she leads to green hills and soft grasses,
through the cold of rain, the dark of night,
through the snow, and storm, and claps of thunder,
when all of the world turns against her,
she never fails to stay her flock.

Upon a still day, a ram wrinkled with time,
scarred with the wisdom of his hills,
and too tired to keep up with the herd
silently slips behind them.

But the shepherdess sees, she knows,
and she is there for him,
fighting fearlessly against the fanged wolves,
risking everything to defend her precious child.

And when her ram is hurt, she holds him,
she cradles him in her arms.
"I'll not let them take you", she whispers.
"I'll not let them have you."

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Valnuary, in the year 829 AF.