A little lamb
my father bought
of a jolly heart
and a snow white coat
at man and maker
bloom and bee
it smiled and danced
by the blossom tree.
The cat was out
on its evil way
sneaking around
for an easy prey
with envy and spite
quite in a fit
it killed the defenceless
the innocent kid.
The dog a stouthearted
fellow and strong
who jumped at wherever
was something wrong
not sparing itself
it never was slow
to aim at the culprit
the deadly blow.
The stick is not
so wooden at heart
to look at a murder
without a start
its task is to knock
and knock it did
the reckless received
a final hit.
The fire fenced up
spends bliss and charm
but out of control
does terrible harm
the flames are greedy
the leap and lick
burned up the wood
burned up the stick.
The rain can be fruitful
can be good
as long as it falls
in a gentle mood
but provoked as now
by the fires glut
it poured down wildly
the infamous flood.
The ox who saw
its pasture and hay
become a sea
and float away
got very angry
and indeed
tried to drink up
the water with speed.
The butcher watched
and found it odd
he sensed and didn’t
like the plot
and sharpened
cautiously his knife
he caught the ox
and took its life.
The death who always
quick at hand
after the butchers
soul he went
as you have killed
you must die too
judgement is mine
not unto you.
The angel of light
who forsakes us never
annihilated the death
for ever
the circle is round
enough of the killing
and peace is yours
if you are willing.
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