Years ago down the lane there was a sheepfold.
What a bustle there was some early some late.
Chaos flock milling, their way not clearly told.
Where was the narrow gate.
The gatekeeper opens it, they swarm in.
But they will only follow their shepherd.
It is his voice that leads them to follow their kin.
Any other they think as dangerous as any leopard.
The sheepfold is gone now.
Only a few rotting pieces of wood remain.
But this thought is resisting time’s steady plough.
There was a good shepherd, he led them down the open lane.
There is in every mind this mental gate.
There is one who can lead us through, with him for salvation we never will be late.