He tires easily these days
of watching all his sheep
as they meander through
the green green grass of home.
It’s how he missed the sin,
committed by a lamb
who was confused at that
and took the lower road.
There was no mother
and no nanny to observe.
I’ll make a deal with you, my Lord,
you keep your cotton-pickin’ eyes
and those of all your angels,
as well as devils and the like
upon the one who looks to you
and all of us for small poetic signs.
And if you do, my Lord, I promise this to you
that this well worn but still intact
gregarious soul from just below the railroad tracks
is ready now to sign upon the holy dotted line,
all for the pleasure of a peasant’s silly dream.