The chill pills will still your grilled soul
Calm your nerves and lets you sleep
While dreaming of green grassy knolls
You count the plump and grazing sheep
“Baaaaad boy!” they taunt and hinder you
“You took too many!” playing the dirge
“Soon your lips will turn a dark blue!”
“Ewe’ll be sorry you didn’t fight the urge!”
© 2011 Michael Yost
Michael's Lair 