A puzzled fold on a summit stands as though deserted.
Though some seem cool, others look, by uncertainties, girted
Is the shepherd careless or struggling with cares of his own?
Staff and sandals are unseen. None of his features are known.
Grass seems grazed. No streams are found. Some are tired. Some suffer thirst.
With a scare of wolves in sheepskins, the valley seems cursed.
If their herdsman has no courage, why should he take them here?
If he has taken them here to take them home, should he fear?
We're on our own; their inner selves said, Let's hold together.
Times, good or bad, might change. Should we not face every weather?
Grazing horizons are endless. Rivers brim full. Streams flow.
Our hope against hopelessness, like gems among stones, must glow.
Why are some sheep still hiding and resting in lethargy?
Have they, as time passed, lost their imperative energy?
Shouldn't those who decide to commence their pilgrimage wait?
Could they afford to leave their comrades to their mortal fate...?