Mock the Flock

We, the superficial fold
The hapless deer with defective eyes
Who live in muddled hope
Beg our cautious Creator
Who dealt a wicked hand
Brought us in His ill-fated cart
Borne by an overwrought porter
We, the careless string of His bow
To meet our vast request
Hallowed be Thy wrath
Are we worth Your weight in hate
Or not?

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