little lamb: sacrifice without struggle

little lamb he called me, little lamb. i was a good lamb, my wool was soft—cotton-like—my eyes were big and brown, and i trot so lightly i was never in your way. 

i spring around the field, i do not trample the wild daisies. i stick by my mother and am kind to my flock. i roll around in the grass beside you, i will not bump you but i will look up at you without ever knowing hatred and tilt my head down for you.

little lamb he called me, little lamb. i am docile, i am sweet, i do not resist the rope around my neck. i fawn at your feet and touch—never questioning your choices. one two, one two, i will trot beside you, keeping up with your pace. you will not have to tie me down as i lay lightly on your altar, i am a well-behaved little lamb—never loud, never angry—my mother would be proud.

i softly sprawl on your table, i was a product of love and you will hold me to it. your hands are rough and dirty my white wool but i will not complain, i am a good lamb. i avoid your gaze but if you saw my pupils you would know that they hold sadness but no accusation.

i will not offer resistance to your axe, in fact i will flinch towards your blade, i will not bleat once—your damage will go on unknown. i choke on the blood of an angel that floods from my neck, but i will do so silently and you will remain unpunishable. do not kneel beside my body, do not dirty me again. little lamb he called me, little lamb.