By Andrew R. Duckworth
How far we stray,
We stray and say it’s not our day,
Fearful of what others might say.
We combat conscience, hoist our sales,
But travel to the echo of our own tales,
And find ourselves swallowed by the whale.
Perhaps big fish were better caught,
When instead it was instruction we fought,
Because we would never do what we ought.
But as we lie in the belly of the beast,
We contemplate that wedding feast
That we may miss should we have our mind
Only focused on the very least.