My Rabbi, My Man

Great thickets of field mice,
good teachers misson us through it.

You wear that pulpit well,
my man of long beards.

What I want to say about you is short but important,
You lead me and I'll follow.

Willoughby

Wood chopping cured our broken bones,
Ox blood spilt on our feet,
Fields of briar and failure,
failure and failure.

I'd still run through it all to end up old with you.