Foul lamb

It sickens me to waste my breath on you
but yellow fever strikes if I do not
spare a few strokes of my too-flimsy pen
to blast a sentry’s trumpet at the flock
and with mixed metaphors and alarm calls
warn that the brazen wolf is no more than
an angry dog on an elastic leash
avoided easily with simple steps,
or lupine brute in woollen onesie is…
a clear imposter to the watchful eye.

More breath I’ll waste to blow with all my might
a caution song to all the goodly beasts;
the greatest threat in the enclosure is
the lamb of selfish ram and mother born
whose feeble legs beguile its wolfish heart.