January 2, 2014


Filed under: Poetry,Society — by Zuhair @ 3:58 pm

In a meadow, not so green

Spotted with flowers few

Was a lamb with a feisty soul

And a spirit, everyday rekindled anew.

It would play like wild

And frolic gay

While those who followed

Would, its spirit try to slay.

Frantically, it once searched for flowers fresh

In its meadow brown and dry

And all the while, the sheep that followed

Would watch it fail and despair as they followed by.

Come with us, they bleated

When it was ready to be sheared

But, still with its feisty spirit,

‘No!’ It cried. ‘And succumb to my deepest fears?’

They laughed and laughed

At the thought of its rebellion,

And so shunning and condemning

They put it into a disgraced situation.

And until now, it remains as it almost feared.

To be an unsheared sheep

Forced to follow the sheared.



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