To the slaughter daily is led
a gentle soul that we are fed,
mercy pleas fall on ears so deaf
from a heart whence love is bereft.
They claim supreme, all mankind,
so out of tune and out of time
one day to rise up and find
the mellow source of natures rhyme.
Not boxed and wrapped and in the store
nor through an opportunistic door,
but as it was in time before
in light of loving God adorned.
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