My heart it feels wrung, oft it is broken,
For others it hurts, it must remain open.
Is this what it's like to gather up sheep?
My crook stops them wandering, but my insides, they weep.
Rest comes not at night, strife haunts me through day,
As I watch for the wolves, stay away, I pray.
Entangled with others who take up my care,
My back is left open, with nobody there.
Pain raw and stabbing, sometimes consuming,
Acute absence noted, my soul it is groaning.
Am I not enough? What I've done is forgotten,
Perhaps not the cure, maybe I am the problem.
Where are my eyes? They look to self,
Short-sighted, I am foolish, I have such wealth.
For when I fall down, One gathers me in,
He's the true shepherd, I must follow Him.
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