The shepherd must walk where the sheep have trod, Through valleys low and meadows broad. He cannot lead from heights afar, But stays beside where his people are.
The shepherd must smell like the sheep he tends, Their cries, their wounds, their needs he mends. For if his heart stays clean, untouched, His flock grows wild, unled, unloved.
Through tangled thorns and muddy ground, The faithful shepherd will be found. Not clothed in pride, nor standing tall, But stooped to lift the weak who fall.
For leadership that’s true and deep Requires the smell, the touch of sheep. To walk among, to bear their pain, To guide them gently home again.
