ONE IN EVERY DROVE
And my wool grew scruffy and rugged
And there slipped a lice; part of my unrest.
It craved a portion of me; I gave it two,
It craved it also, gladly I gave it too.
Before it lain me bare on a high alter of its gluttonous parade.
Looking forward to my glistening toasty thighs,
But I suggested to be seasoned in pepper and salt speckles:
If I am served; then let me lay a grand banquet.
When life was always a free field and
A blind shepherd its steward: unless he could see,
I came back to myself
And tore the rope and wandered a mile.
‘A thousand seconds aren’t enough when you are free.’
Then my wool felt something strange,
I was in the midst of a howling pack.
In their bliss rose my fright; they wanted a piece of me.
“Dump pack if I could lend you my coat and teach you how to bleat.
Then you can wander in the flock whenever.
And choose the best for your bellies, all I know is am the lanky one.” I appealed.
Lend I did; in a hurry he came back for me,
Blindly; he left with one of them.