By Crook

A Poem

A Lamb retreated,
a wolf trailed.
The first defeated, 
I'm curtailed.

Froth-fanged Fear 
gnaws the flesh 
of sheep I shear 
for coats and mesh.

Starved and sighing,
I, roars pouring,
dying,
try adoring.

The Beast shuts its maw
with a frightened look;
my eyes rise in awe
of the Shepherd's crook.