TED ROBERTS THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK

The flame has undressed the light-shy candle
And cast her white wedding gown on the floor
Thick darkness unveils the plaque of her purity
To enrich the beauty of the glamorous galaxies
In the stream of piano, talking drums and brass
The full-blown moon is a promising girl-child
Crawling joyfully out of her ash-coloured cot
To behold and embrace the glittering garment
Of the bubbling large-hearted Uncle Ted Roberts
Caught in the fire flames of inspirational love
For the pen pregnant with winning white wool
In the measured blood stream of mother Africa

His locks laundered the wrinkled rain coats
His eyelashes hosted the dazzling dew drops
His eagle-eyes prosecuted the sobbing seashores
His bleaching beards bleached the belching beaches
His racy rods raided the heavy-hearted hideouts
His staff screened the wild western woodlands
His golden girdles grazed the evergreen grasses
His glittering garments rent the rickety rocks
His sweetened sweat revived the sinking soils
His healthy heart humbled the haughty high hills
His boots booted the stubborn stumbling stones
To redeem the nightline family's missing link

Now, behold the unique royal nightline family
In the breast pocket of unconditional love
In the briefcase of unbreakable God-faith
In the mailbag of the great prince of Peace
In the wardrobe of the transparent Comforter
In the sanctuary of the Ancient of Days
Far from the flaming fangs of blind war lords
Far from the sharp claws of deaf coup plotters
Far from the chilling clanks of toothy tanks
Far from the thundering echoes of cold blood
Far from the deafening songs of soul's sorrow
And far from the cancerous evils of tomorrow.