The Sheep, The Violin And The Warrior

The SHEEP stand silent; their heads turn in one direction,
Their ears strain to hear, once again, the long loved voice.
Hushed is the bleat of the lambs. No dust arises from the ground.
Even their feet are still. They watch with one accord
The faithful shepherd's back retreating over the hill.

The VIOLIN is silent, waiting in it's case to feel again his loving touch.
His skilled old hands fingering each string will
From it's wooden bosom glad notes ring once more?
Round notes, sure truths, firm tones, leaping melody cascading one upon another, From his bow, his hand, his mind, our hearts take wing. Who will play it now?

The WARRIOR sleeps. Around his bed stand the valiant men,
"The valiant of Israel." They all hold swords being expert in war,
Every man hath his sword upon his thigh,
Their armour gleams, catching the brilliance from
The old shield now hanging upon the wall.
Tender, gentle hands of the valiant ones lay the weary body

Of the old warrior to it's rest. And in their eyes new fires are kindled.
They hear the call of the sheep to be shepherded, fields to be harvested,
Music to be played. The beloved mantle is placed
On their strong shoulders. And the building of the kingdom goes on.

In Memory of George Walker