Lambs, rams, ewes:
Emerge from your cocoons of woven slumber.
The shepherd's breath awaits you beyond the gate,
So arise anew and set sheepish eyes to rest
Upon bejeweled skies fastened with multi-faceted hues.
Your patron's loyalty cannot be tested or attested to,
For its existence is but an ever-evolving ballet.
With high bleating coats and dusty woolen voices,
You usher rhyme and reason toward the horizon.
There, let play your lips, softly gazing at clouds,
While your ravenous eyes, red-rimmed and hazy,
Graze on dainties left unspoiled by human feet
And that destructive beast the farmer calls Plow.
Know there is no need to fear the wolf … for now;
He slinks silently beneath dawn's divine shadow,
Leaving you in peace for this space of time,
A time when you need not lead or follow,
But stand even-toed, basking in fleeces of gold,
As young and old carry out the ancient ritual
That begins with the blessed ascent of Apollo.
© Copyright 2017 Candidate 118. All rights reserved.
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