“Listen,” says the canterer, “Go fly and tell your children,
we want them to be innocent.” Be innocent, be innocent,
so echoed the warden. “Listen!”
…says the shepherd, “Go fly and tell your mother:
we want her to be innocent.” Be innocent, be innocent,
echoed the witness oblivious.
The promise of truth’s but a waking dare now,
the colorless preening of ominous sounds,
facetious bemoaning of evident gasps,
while lies thrive in mouths of the villainous crowd.
And true to their word, they spout nothing but blatant
untruths for the sheeple in farmhouses bare—
so many were they that if half of them hurry,
they could form a new flock, they could form a new country.
“Listen,” says the chanteuse, “I could sing this song for days,
and I want you to listen.” To listen, to listen
says the sheep in their pen. “Listen!”
…says the hallowed, “Go fly and tell your brothers
we want you to follow.” To follow, to follow,
the flock cantered steadily with their every tomorrow.
— A. P.