Sylvia Sharpentier

My lamb, my beautiful lamb
Is calling me
Mine is jolly-frolicin' by the hot-chimney log cabin
By a singing creek, dancing vines, and loving twitters
Upon the bucolic glen
Where the dew of holy spirit hovers like 
Mother's eternal hug

La, la, la-
I play harp for my lambs
And on they dance
To the beats of my heart
Because I know them, 
And they know me
We are one in happienss
We are inseparable

My lamb is meek and playful
Yawning with watery eyes, 
Peacefully sitting next to me 
And "meh~", he cries, a musical plead

Their stomachs are full of fresh grass
Gently cared through the thawing dale of March
Moving is its whiteness, the art cololrfully on my vellum
The inarticulate breeze of holiness
is the twin of Beauty
crafted by the good hands of God

Look at the flowering trees in the spring
Ain't it a miracle?
of the barren becoming beautiful?
Ain't it a miracle?

My lamb gets scared so easily
So I caress my hand against their fur
And say, "Worry not, my friend. I am your protector"