THOSE SHEEP IN THE MANGER
All these things as one : those sheep in the manger
banging heads, no room in the inn, wise men on
sleds? I think it went like that. Dark Winter night
that made no sense, and a bright moon or star
looming intense. Every possible accommodation for
a winsome, sweet fantasy has been made here.
We've given you the perfect story, if you'll just
now follow up. And, please, keep it quiet too.
-
I've spoken to mothers outside their churches - all
that obvious drivel. 'I know I don't believe, myself,
but I do it for the kids. I want them to have a
tradition, some set of beliefs to live with.' I roar
back like Rintra, and exclaim, 'but lady you're
crazy deluding yourself, rolling right into this trap.
The kids don't care, and what you take away they'll
never get back. Anyway, isn't it all about the truth
and the real, or what else are you giving them but
another in a long line of crap? Let them read Blake
instead if you mean it.' But of course, she doesn't.
-
Fine fellows and gals one wide-world over, it's all
drivel and pabulum, something to get over. Like the
fine-arc'd line of the meticulous arrow, life does go
on, following its own, and gently arrives at a target
you've set. Be wary then of all those chary things
you set for goals. Remember, what you set out
may just as well all come true. (With that, I realized
I was setting off wrongly, so I turned around and
walked it all back). And, oh yes, those sheep in
the manger, they each wore a hat.
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