Baa
Who are these wary, wandering ones,
Bleating with apprehension?
Who, in the same direction gaze,
With no comprehension?
Their ovine eyes blink with dismay,
At everything they see,
The world turns on and yet they weep,
For the way things ought to be.
Safe in their fold, their tiny hooves,
Beat out a well-trod story,
They watch the walls go 'round and 'round,
But see no path to glory.
Anne Selleck
Copyright 2017
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