Old Shepherd’s Prayer
Up to the bed by the window, where I be lyin’, Comes bells and bleat of the flock wi’ they two
children’s clack. Over, from under the eaves there’s the
starlings flyin’, And down in yard, fit to burst his chain,
yapping out at Sue, I do hear young Mac.
Turning around like a falled- over sack I can see team ploughin’ in Withybush field and meal carts startin’ up road to Church Town; Saturday arternoon, the men goin’ back And the women from market, trapin’ home
over the down.
Heavenly Master, I wud like to wake to they
same green places Where I be know’d for breakin’ dogs and
follerin’ sheep. And if I may not walk in th’ old ways and look
on th’ old faces I wud sooner sleep.