Sheep Flock

In a tranquil valley, where the meadows sway,
Lived a shepherd named Gerbald, with songs to convey.
Though lacking in pitch, his heart sang so true,
His voice, off-key and jumbled, but his spirit anew.

With his flock grazing gently, beneath the sky so vast,
Gerbald would sing, melodies from his heart amassed.
His tunes, so discordant, no melody in key,
Yet, amidst the chaos, his sheep roamed free.

For in his unique gift, a blessing unknown,
His singing, so dreadful, struck fear into the bone.
The wolves of the forest, with their cunning eyes,
Would flee from the sound, their howls turned to cries.

Oh, Gerbald the shepherd, with your off-key refrain,
Your singing, a shield, to protect and maintain.
Though your notes may falter, your spirit so bright,
You keep your flock safe, from the dark of the night.

The sheep, they gathered, their hearts at ease,
As Gerbald's voice carried on, carried the breeze.
With every off-pitch lyric, a harmony so pure,
His presence alone, a safeguard to endure.

Through meadows and hills, his songs would resound,
Echoing amidst the trees, a protective surround.
And the wolves, they trembled, their hunger suppressed,
Gerbald's terrible singing, their fears confessed.

So let us celebrate Gerbald's peculiar gift,
A shepherd whose voice, in melody adrift.
For in his dissonant chorus, a melody rang clear,
Keeping the wolves at bay, his sheep without fear.

In the pastoral valley, where harmony found its place,
Gerbald, the shepherd, with his off-key grace.
His songs, a shield, his sheep safe and sound,
A testament to the power of sound, profound.

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