A New World Order

An ominous two note tone plays relentlessly

‘Four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie’,

The small children are heard to chant

As the aged hippie stands by with

His brown and orange granny glasses

And a secular cassock and surplice

His incense wafts through an eastward course

Toward Nod where he approaches a

Black and white world and suddenly

It is in color with spurious hopes

Of a modern Tempe and Arcady

13 thoughts on “A New World Order

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