The Nation of the Glorious Turnip

A Flock to Wander Bravely

Far up the skies he did surmise
Is a lonely Shepherd with faded eyes
Beset by sheep his flock interned
Led the path to mountain turned
in turmoil, with no dog left behind
As the ravine beckons, horror is defined
Before Death the Shepherd cried in vain
"My flock, my flock I must contain!"
Seconds pass the door is drawn
Endless chasm, a watcher gone
The reconciliation of fallen wrath
high up on the mountain path.