I COULD HAVE BEEN A SHEEPHERDER

 

I could have been a sheepherder

Or manned some lonely post

I could have spent my time alone

As if I were a ghost

 

 

I could have plastered countless walls

Troweling and floating alone

Mixing batch after batch

Until that number became unknown

 

 

But of all the ways to spend my time

Of all the ways to toil

Buried somewhere deep in my heart

Was a desire to till the soil

 

 

Alone in some enormous field

Plowing endless rows

Being alone with only my thoughts

My heart no one else knows

 

 

Talking to the sheep

Or even to a wall

Kept me from hurting others

And relationships to maul 

 

 

And maul them I did

Getting along was never my forte

Not a single one immune from me

So few enjoyed my support

 

 

So as my life ebbs away

As my days are numbered less

I don’t have much to show for my life

So little good to assess

 

 

The sheep or trowels or plows I knew

Fared so much better in my life

Than did the people with whom I walked

Who got from me naught but strife

 

 

As the skies grow dark

And winter hastens its approach

I cannot escape the damage I’ve done

I cannot elude reproach

 

 

So for me it’s back to the fields

To plow or shepherd the sheep

To find solace in my solitude

Before I close my eyes in sleep