The Lost Lamb

The Lost Lamb

She strayed too far from mother’s call,

Chasing silence through the fall.

The field was wide, the sky turned black,

But no one came to lead her back.

She knew the path but not the way,

And wolves don’t wait for lambs to pray.

Her wool, once clean, now brushed with dirt,

Each step she took, a bruise, a hurt.

The stars looked down, they did not speak,

No shepherd came. No light to seek.

A lamb alone in shadows deep,

Forgotten… left to rot or sleep.

She cried a sound no one could hear,

Not even death would wander near.

Each tree she passed had crooked arms,

Each breeze she felt, a voice that harms.

She dreamed of hands that used to hold,

Of nights not bitten by the cold.

But dreams are cruel when no one stays,

And hope runs dry in darkened days.

Her bleating stopped. Her breath grew thin.

No one searched where she had been.

Just one more soul that slipped away.

The cost of straying far one day.

Art copyrighted to George’s Girl 2025