Father Wool Poem by Charles Cross

Grass is sweet by the feet on the bless'ed null;
All is sweet by the feet of old Father Wool.

Idle thoughts of the flock privy to the candor eye,
Under fallacious aegis of a shepherd's plebeian sky,

And grazing since that calve of ignominy,
Chewing and chewing in the Lord's vague harmony,

They do what is proper, merry and gay,
Assuage what evoked by truth did dismay,

But a minatory schism bode not by pen,
Awaits yea he goads through the bless'ed glen.

Grass is sweet by the feet when bless'ed heads be dull;
Graves are sweet by the feet of old Father Wool.