And won’t you slow your pace, and let us look
at least upon your shadow as you move?
Your darkened form walks all too swiftly through
these thickets, and some rams among our flock
command me stay behind. They say my words
disrupt their meditations, and my feet
usurp the path that theirs would take. You need
me, so they say, to be unseen, unheard,
and let my sheepish silence be the sign
of my devotion. Bleating arguments,
we wait for you to turn; but until then
we trot as troubled stragglers in your line,

not knowing how to reconcile our aims,
or even if our shepherd is the same.