She is like a horse grazing
a hill pasture that someone makes
smaller by coming every night
to pull the fences in and in.
She has stopped running the wide loops,
stopped even the tight circles.
She drops her head to feed; grass
is dust, and the creekbed's dry.
Master, come with your light
halter. Come and bring her in.
(By Jane Kenyon)
Placing this poem on a blog is probably a copyright violation, but I will assuage my conscience by highly recommending this poet as a delightful, gentle Christian voice who has gone out of this world. Jane Kenyon, Otherwise: New and Selected Poems.