WE ARE ALL CULPABLE

Before the arrival of



The Cross and Crescent,

Bards want to ram down



My throat, we all were saints.

But I'm seeing something

Across my hedge:



The lizards and chickens

Who haven't read a letter

In any of the tomes,

Filled with incredible rage

Jumping around to scratch

Their eyes out; bitter

And whipping to skin

One another.

Honestly, bards,

I'm lost in ponder.

Did the