Why so many rules, Shepherd?
Have you no faith your flock will return
Wiser and grateful for your fences
Glad of food and shelter?

Our boundaries are our own
Close or far, sharp or smooth
Set by instinct, fear or faith
Curiosity or passion.

Not all live long
Some return their bodies early
For soil to recycle but
Matter abides - ours and theirs.

And what of spirit?
If the world wastes nothing
Do not spirits too persist
Awaiting their next vessel?