Wild Sheep
Wild Sheep
Hero of the people I stood tall.
Yet by my wicked hand my flight did stall,
and so shame struck like a musket ball.
Rattled of mind I saw only gall.
Papers, Parish and Police would call,
So in horror I hailed Hallowed Hall.
As you spiralled downward in free fall
Did you ponder who'd shepherd your dall,
Or who would sow your funeral Pall?
Will Sunday become the shopping mall,
And sermons the ads across the wall?
The truth is we're all wild sheep, yes all.
But your deed, in one voice we appall.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2019
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