Oracle Poem by Morgan Michaels

The oracle said we would lose, its message, very clear.
'Quit the bones of your fathers, your lands, businesses,
Gather your children, what articles of worth
Might easily be carried on your backs and get the heck out;
For the foe', it said, 'will descend like a whirlwind
Guzzle your blood and bear off whoever's left
Into starkest servitude.'.
Most believed it and prepared to flee. Only one old wise woman
Reluctant to leave her potato garden, shook a crooked finger
At the crowd and demanded a re-interpretation
(Which, of course, she got)
'Clearly', said the divines, 'on reconsideration
The oracle meant just to foretell the fall of the foe';
We, ourselves, have little to worry about
If we'd only take heart, think and manage our resources;
Talk to each other with an extra measure of politeness and agree to agree;
Oh- and build a fleet.
Such was the re-interpretation of the divines.
That was years ago. Putting our faith entirely in the oracle
As the divines bid we did, and when the foe invaded, won the day.
Truly these oracles have a way of changing that optimism never does.
Odd. Could it be that oracles are mostly a matter of interpretation?