In this dazzling midday heat,
It’s comforting to think how
Contented the innocent
Lambs must be, gathered
With no care in the world
Under the protective canopy
Of the blessèd olive tree,
Suckling their mothers’ teats
As if their lives depended
On it, and indeed how
Easy it is to be sucked in
By that old rustic wives’ tale—
A bit harder to digest how
Gamboling they are
Soon to be led off
By city-bred wolves
In always appropriate
Cutting-edge abattoir attire.
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