My Son... how I long for you
like the deer that pants for water.
I long to be your shepherd,
your shield, your chariot,
your sandals, your plush bed
you lay your tired body on
to offer up yourself to dreams
in the night.

I am wise like a Shaman
from my age. I can for see
because I watch, I listen,
I perceive the coming of storms
through current wind
and I desperately try to warn
you with bright colors
and cries,
but I am bound by you
like an oxen to his master
because I wait for your ears
to perk like a dog's do
in love of hearing his masters voice.
Why won't you heed to my staff guiding
your side, moving you from the thorn
bush or the cliff's ledge?
Why? ... Why?