To: The Shepherd
From: The Poet
Re: Your Lost Sheep
Let’s consider this from his perspective.
Maybe he had a mind of his own.
Maybe he was tired of conforming,
of every time his eyes wandered
feeling the crook of your staff
round his neck.
Maybe he just wanted to be
alone for awhile,
to not be a part of the fucking
flock any more.
Maybe he was sick and tired
of your mid-night advances.
Maybe he was an artist
searching for a tar pit
to dye in,
the original black sheep.
Maybe he didn’t want to be found.
Maybe you were just afraid
of what songs he’d sing to your flock
across the hills at night.
There were ninety-nine others.
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