Garments For The Lamb

Cast away thoughts of clotted white
Creations awoken in a sudden burst
Cradled on a wing throughout the night
To address the Mother of Necessity’s thirst

That which is the sum of moving parts
An invention wrought and made to fare
Given freely when delivered by the arts
The intention then, to add a cloak of flair

By name, a wolf born of primal deception
Judged by his finest coat and arms
The benefits of nature’s fine reception
Skirts the influence of bells and charms

Then I, with tuffs of fleece about the eyes
Joyous in industry, in search of a prize
Am easily lead with no ability to recognise
That purpose is, and will always be, demise