A Poor Man’s Sheep

(2 Samuel 12:1-4)

There was a man of little keep,

Whose only treasure was his sheep.

He fed it from his bowl and cup,

Held it close, lifted it up.

He loved that lamb with all he had,

A love imperfect, aching, sad,

Not always what the sheep would seek,

But every gesture honest, meek.

He cared for all its fragile needs,

And dreamed of future little bleeds

Of wool and warmth and quiet days,

A flock to bless his humble ways.

Then I came in with restless pride;

Though I had sheep, I felt denied.

I told myself I understood

What that lamb needed, what was should.

The man gave love in simple form,

Enough to feed, enough to warm.

But I believed my hands knew more,

And crossed a line I can’t restore.

I took his sheep for selfish gain,

Not need, not care, just hunger’s claim.

And when I sent that lamb to die,

Something in me died nearby.

To that poor man I bow in grief.

Your favorite sheep, your one relief.

I pray that God returns your lamb,

And heals the wounds I carved by hand.

If again your joys increase,

Perhaps my soul may then find peace.