In the pasture of sleep, I roam the fields.
Where shadows of memory graze quietly.
A soul tethered in the past.
Its bleats echo through far-away hills.
These spectral wanderers.
Wool spun from the threads of nostalgia.
Each flicker.
Each hoofbeat.
A heartbeat of joyous laughter.
In the quiet of night, I am their shepherd.
That leads triumphantly to the lamb I
once was.