The Shearing
Three white dresses hang on the rack
Which one to don today
In the bullies' romper room, an attempt to teach fact.
The sundress with an eyelet lace hem wins
With a gray tank top underneath
Too much cleavage would surely cloud their ignorant lens
Hold that tawny head up, look them right in the eye
You're not Hesther
Nor will you quench them from their eternal dry
The defendant's seat is chosen for her, much to her disgust
Right among all the ring leaders
Silently chastising with sideway glances, mistaking her a mirage of lust
She stays, not bolting like the mustang living within
Tends her sheep, cradles a newborn
The countdown begins... the verdict, and whaddya know, wool blood covers her sin.
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