Worthy the Lamb Slain for Us
By Patti Smith
On the edge of a pasture in a confusion of stones,
obscured by the long grass and floramour,
the footprint of horror cloven and drawn.
She had a beautiful name: freedom.
Pretty little chop. Unmarketable, light
the bleating of new life.
He loved her mouth, tiny feet dressed in pleats.
Hearing her cry, he picked her up by the stem
of her throat in his thick arms slick with dew.
And he, a governed soul, broad shouldered
with eyes like Blake, lamented who bred thee, nursed
thee on mead and flowers, as he ripped her apart.
The barn was burning an indifferent hell,
engulfing little maids in their curly coats.
The field and fell lay empty as the heart.
He called to his god gasping for breath
we abandoned the farms we culled,
cut the cord, incinerated our little ones.
We did it for love we did it for man,
the hawthorn and the cuckoo,
the footpaths of Cumbria.
We did it for a beautiful name.
freedom, baa baa baa,
nothing you could put your finger on.
Copyright Credit: Patti Smith, "Worthy the Lamb Slain for Us" from Auguries of Innocence. Copyright © 2005 by Patti Smith. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Source: Auguries of Innocence (Ecco Press, 2005)