Wheeling Gull Isle glory

she smelled, wafted by the soft breeze over the water in the cave.

hooded eyes only barely offered a reflection of her dagger gaze.

she thought him without sin. perhaps she thought all men of God were, but how wrong she was. that his faith had only been strengthened in his stumbling.

that he had returned to this island, in the wake of his mistakes and righted his wrongs.

i have not met a lamb who is not worthy enough to be led back into the flock, his chin raised, golden eyes taking a harder light to them now.

it is only up to the lamb, to wish to return to the flock.