Shepherds and Museum Curators

One carries a staff;
The other silver and gold.
Whom do I follow?

One man embraces
The other man polishes.
Two ways emerge here.

The former: warm breeze.
The latter: a chilly bite.
My path illumined.

Wrapped ’round his shoulders
Is where this ’lil lamb shall go
As long as I live.

His Empty Show

A smirk on my face
As the wicked curtain parts
To reveal his stage.

But a spot is cued
His playground of shadows gone
with The Prince’s click.

Reciting my vows
The Light casts out the darkness
It’s Easter again.