Something For The Sabbath Poem by chris dawson

The Lord's my shepherd, tho I don’t want,
he makes me down to lie
in pastures green. He leadeth me
but I know that look in his eye.

His pole he doth restore again,
and me to awkwardly walk doth make
within the paths of right discomfort,
all for his own game's sake.

Yea, though I walk in this dark vale,
and yet I fear I will get ill.
Because he art with me, and that rod
feels like it’s up me still.

My table he has furnished
whilst standing tippy toes,
my head he dost with oil anoint,
as he pulls out and overflows.

Goodness and mercy all my life,
will he keep following me!
And in God's house for evermore,
sharing his wellies.

Baaaalm 23