Mary, Mary let go of that sheep
It has bleat too loudly as we lay asleep
Feet in one steady direction
Out from the pen its throes
Mary, Mary the meadows are fresh
Though they are green only for so long
The dogs have slung them over their heads
Strung out from wayward beds
The clueless drunk shepherd that was your father
Waiting at the neck of foreign spirits
Sheathed it like a monkey peeling bananas
For a fat buck a glass, what's it to him?
Poor little sheep, shivers from the whipping air
Clouds gone too soon
For the rich merchants
With hanging gold in their mouths
Mary, Mary, poor little sheep
Jumped over the fence
Probably too hurt to walk alone
Thorns and rocks ahead
But they must have been better than the cold in his head
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
Mary, Mary let go of that sheep
It has bleat too loudly as we lay asleep
Feet in one steady direction
Out from the pen its throes
Mary, Mary the meadows are fresh
Though they are green only for so long
The dogs have slung them over their heads
Strung out from wayward beds
The clueless drunk shepherd that was your father
Waiting at the neck of foreign spirits
Sheathed it like a monkey peeling bananas
For a fat buck a glass, what's it to him?
Poor little sheep, shivers from the whipping air
Clouds gone too soon
For the rich merchants
With hanging gold in their mouths
Mary, Mary, poor little sheep
Jumped over the fence
Probably too hurt to walk alone
Thorns and rocks ahead
But they must have been better than the cold in his head
Request permission to use this poem