The Sheepmen
Down by the river in the juniper grove,
An old man in a mushroom using his stove
Cooks mutton and grain and nail clippings from toes
Pigs feet and macabre munchies assorted of those
The Sheepmen are lonely, and blue in the head
They talk with their hands and eat with their legs
Fuzzy ears and square noses,
In pictures strike poses,
Yet eat what they are, and they are all dead
In the city they toil, with foil and broil
Up trouble, then double, when word comes of oil
Fire eats wool as if wool were the Snark
Who rotted away when he stayed after dark
The Sheepmen are lonely, and blue in the head
They talk with their hands and eat with their legs
Fuzzy ears and square noses,
In pictures strike poses,
Yet eat what they are, and they are all dead
Beside me one sits in languid levity
He whispers inanely, clutching his negligee
I slide down my settle and look for my mettle
I find none, thus leave him a searching unsettled
The Sheepmen are lonely, and blue in the head
They talk with their hands and eat with their legs
Fuzzy ears and square noses,
In pictures strike poses,
Yet eat what they are, and they are all dead
Copyright © Andrew Travis | Year Posted 2018
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