In morning light you guide the day,
With steady eyes of quiet gray.
You dance with wind, swift as a bird,
Born with a heart that longs to herd.
Across the field I watch you go,
A shadow stitched to earth below.
I call your name, you turn and show
A promise still — to follow slow.
My clever friend with spirit bold,
A story written in black and gold.
No truer bond could I have heard
Than yours: to guide, to follow, to herd.

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