Poem December 29, 1980 Issue

Reed song

CHRISTINE EBY

I am Your flute, sweet Shepherd,
glad to be whittled for the purest song,
happy to vibrate with melody.

I am Your reed, in the morning, with the sheep rising,
as You tune them awake,
in the evening, when Your lullaby turns alive
a thin horizon of hills.

In silence, in song, as all who know You are glad,
I am gladly reed.

CHRISTINE EBY

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We hear when we listen

December 29, 1980

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