Poem Seven

The Shepherd

His word is their command,
they do as they are told.
They flock behind this man,
the youngest to the old.
As he walks, they follow,
awaiting new direction.
And they reimburse this leader;
after all, it's his profession
To make them feel secure,
trusting his oration.
Their vision quite obscured,
they stay for the duration.
The wool is in their eyes;
they cannot see the truth.
He only speaks in lies.
He screams, oh, how uncouth!
He's barking at his sheep,
as if he were a wolf;
Still, they love to hear him speak,
when reading verses from his book.
Why not read it all today?
By chapter, not by verse.
Afraid that they will fall away?
You fear that they'll disperse?
Yes, keep them blind to keep them near;
but keep in mind, the sheep you shear
to take their wool and leave them bare
cannot be fooled, no more long hair
to steal their eyes and snatch their sight.
Will they still cry in sweet delight
to hear your lecture?
Sorry, shepherd, I'm thinking that's a "No."
I will not be your Sunday sheep,
It's time for me to go.