City Cattle.

I thank the heavens

that guide my way,

my feet aren't bound

to path's of clay.

Where cities call

a daily battle,

and shuffling feet

draw pay cheque cattle.

Penned by windows,

gates of glass

invite escape but

none may pass.

untill the herdsman's

whistle calls,

and freedom beckons

through the halls.

To crowd once more

past hills of stone,

where Tarmac rivers

lead them home.

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