BLACK SHEEP by Richard Burton

From their folded tents they wander far,
Their ways seem harsh and wild;
They follow the beck of a baleful star,
Their paths are dream beguiled.
Yet haply they sought but a wilder range,
Some loftier mountain slope,.
And little recked of the country strange
Beyond the gates of hope.

And haply a bell with a luring call
Summoned their feet to tread
Midst the cruel rocks where the deep pitfall
And the lurking snare are spread.
May be in spite of tameless days
Of outcast liberty,
They’re sick at heart of the homely ways
Where their garnered brothers be.

And oft at night when the plains fall dark,
And the hills loom large and dim;
For the Shepherd’s voice they mutely hark,
And their souls go out to him.
Meanwhile, Black Sheep! Black Sheep! We cry,
Safe in the inner fold;
And may be they hear and wonder why,
And marvel, out in the cold.

Black Sheep indeed! The shepherds of this our present, liberal government, rather than protecting the system of capitalism, their assigned flock, deliberately subvert it. America’s free market has been left out in the cold. Baa, baa. Boo hoo, we black sheep.