David

by

Margaret Cracknell

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Across the hills of Jericho
The sheep trails wind their way,
Weaving patterns as eternal
As the veins on the leaves of a tree.
Long ago, the young shepherd boy
Who rose to be crowned a king,
Walked these trails, barefoot, sunburnt,
Listening for the bleat of his sheep,
And the sheep followed him
As later bands of men would do.

Across the centuries have come
Greeks and Romans, Assyrians and Turks,
Plunderers, assasins,
The faithful and the infidels.
And now modern armies ravage the land.
but still the shepherds graze their sheep
Upon the hills of Jericho.

A shepherd stoops and sees a coin
Lying amongst the pimpernels.
"Enough to pay for a beer", he thinks
As he picks it up and goes on down the trail.
He does not see the lion of Judah on the coin,
David the Lion, the simple boy, who once, like he,
Led home his sheep along this very path.