Papa took my little Lamb,
The one I loved to hold.
My soft and cuddly, loving Lamb,
I’d taken from the fold.

I cried all day for my Lamb,
The one my Pop had taken.
“Why, dear Pop? I don’t understand!
By Pop, I’d been forsaken.

The night that Papa took my Lamb,
We sat around the table.
I tried to ask about my Lamb,
So down, I wasn’t able.

Pop spoke first, asked: “How’s the meal?
Tonight we’re havin’ Lion.”
I couldn’t eat, nor hardly feel.
I feared that Pop was lyin’.

Β© 2012, Dr. Phil Bryant



Filed under Poetic Perspectives

6 responses to “Forsaken

  1. This reminds me of the annual Jewish Passover. They pick the best little lamb, bring it inside, cuddle it, get attached and then sacrifice it. Enjoyed the poem. Write more!

  2. Pingback: Forsaken — Author’s Reflection | managementdocandpoet

  3. Thanks for the likes and comments.
    Thanks for the follow, Jaffrey. I’ll check out your site in a minute.

  4. HAHA! That is nice πŸ™‚

    Reminds me of the time my dad told us we were eating lamb leg, but I was convinced it didn’t look right, after we’d finished he admitted it had been goat’s leg πŸ™‚

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