The Sheep's Clothes Poem by Barry Van Allen

The choir tries to be attentive,
though not exactly conversation,
in fact there is no feedback,
but then again no aggravation.

The parishoners contribute little,
and sew no more than they can reap,
they seem to tolerate my sermons,
if I don't interrupt their sleep.

Come Monday they will feel good,
and ' know ' they did their part,
but I wonder if the congregation,
really feels it in their hearts.

I am supposed to raise the consciousness,
of the flock that I am tending,
the sheep must learn to follow me,
so very many are pretending.

One Sunday I walked quietly,
then SLAMMED my Bible down,
I spoke unto them fervently,
and I proclaimed that they were sinners,
... and half of them walked out.

That wasn't what they paid for,
but I was no commodity,
which may explain why I'm no longer there,
... instead I'm selling Chevys.

Today I still will get the things I need,
but now I reach for them voraciously,
I grab my fair share of the loot to keep,
I'm now a wolf that feeds upon the sheep.

Perhaps the Son was shining in my eyes,
and the words were part of my disguise,
most colleagues never realized,
that my lies and I quite never fit,
some hinted I was ' full of it ',
... I guess I always was a hypocrite!