Lambs suckle to the ewe -

frolic in the field, and Baa

if there is a need – we love

the pastoral scene, but cull


them if we can – us human

kind we, taking a knife, carry

out a Hari Kari, as least as far

as our conscience goes – but


lambs, cease perambulating

and bleating. Silence remains

except for the caw of rooks

with magisterial assemblage




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Paul Sayer

Sat 11th Jul 2020 00:10

If I'm going to get to see the gibbet from the end of a rope it will definitely be for an old piece of mutton lied Po

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Fri 10th Jul 2020 23:21

The court of rooks is now in session - bring in the guilty lamb. Forget the scape goat for the moment. Thanks Po for reading etc. P.

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Paul Sayer

Fri 10th Jul 2020 22:17

Bloody hell mate... literally.

What a superb last line for your poem.


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