Friday, September 23, 2011


He sings his care for the one-hundred.
He lives with eyes, loving as a mother’s, fixed upon them.
His heart burns with zeal, firry as a lover’s.

He keeps the one-hundred united though thick and thin.
One-hundred is his heart beat.
One-hundred is his devotion.

His heart sinks in sadness and pity when one wanders into shadow.
He leaves the one-hundred in concerned pursuit.
To the lost he chases, to the ends of the earth he races.
Day after day he searches, as a father for his vanished son.
He traverses pain, time, and worry in quest of the one.
Finally, after braving peril, and agony he reaches the pinnacle of his journey: He finds the one.
He runs in glorious embrace, as the sun meats the morning sky.
He reaches the one, all innermost love emerges; He cries for joy.
With the one, he returns to the 99, triumphant as a war-winning nation.
Forevermore the flock stands in unison as migrating geese.
Forevermore the flock rests in the watch of the master.

Smiling, he watches our ways, as a body united.
As a migrating buffalo returns, so he never abandons us.
When one wanders, he follows; he longs to lead him home.
Relentlessly he never abandons his passion to save the one.

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