The Lord was my shepherd, I did not want.
He made me to lie down in green pastures,
He led me beside the still waters.
He restored to me my soul
So I might walk in the paths of righteousness
For mankind's sake.
Yea! Though I walk through the valley of death
I will fear no evil, for I am thou,
My rod and my staff they comfort me.
I prepare a feast for my enemies;
I anoint our heads with oil,
Our cups brim over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow
All the days of our lives
And I will live in the house of . . .
The house of . . .
The house of mine own choice and making,
On my own, alone, for ever?
My home is neither high nor wide,
There is no cool courtyard and my store is void.
My walls contract as does my soul.
What am I but a snail slithering,
Consuming the waste of others
Under my spiral dome, my home?
I did not fashion this twirling top.
Nor did God for he was never and never.
The myriad acts of creation fashioned it,
The blind watchmaker,
The cruel law of the jungle,
The throwers of dice
They fashioned it as they did me.
Nothing betrays the depths beneath my skin.
My limitless power for good or evil,
Evil and good.
Only my wordless dreams proclaim that.
My waste creates the green pastures,
Flowers and fruits follow my slime
As I crawl beside the still waters
Under my dome.
And I who walk tall,
Fashion my own life
Choose my own path,
Whose potential runneth over.
Shall goodness and mercy follow?
Or shall I dwell in the house of the snail
For ever?
Celia Barclay