Late Spring

Beside me waits the shepherd
on the old pasture. It's late spring.
Nearby a small stream is heard.
Just ahead a narrow path is seen.

Here hope restores my spirit within;
against which enemies try to thwart.
The protection of the staff begins
to guide me past shadows that contort.

For far beyond are tablelands steep to climb,
high above the summer's drying heat.
Goodness and Mercy retrieve and keep me in time;
and remind me where to plant my feet.