My Son... how I long for you
like the dear 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
and then heed to my staff pushing
on your side to move you from the thorn
bush or the cliff's ledge.
But, no, you are an obstinate child
spatting on my compassion and love.
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