Making hay while the sun’s a’shinin’
Stealin’ cake while the others are dinin’
Feeling the pull to peep through the wool
Or was it the sheep through which the lies seep ?
The chaotic bleat that flows beneath the feet
And arises up the spine like cavitations mal- divine.
Emitting up and out a sound hole plucking strings in our throat
Unconscious aural conformation
Till one living sweater-shrub ceases to bleat out of consternation
Something has changed, as things sometimes do.
Something is different, something is new.
Random, spontaneous, serendipitous growth
Unexpected uninvited, unrequited hope
Once begged for freedom from oppressive tyranny of choice
Now beg for shackles through curdled cackles to get back the voice
Till beg no more, upright from all for
Decision passed from hooves to hand
From grazing grass to breeding land
To breed ideas, but not new race
To evolve, revolve, revolt with grace
But still a sheep, not more no less.
Did not run, did not egress
The sheep that ceased to bleat and began to speak.