Do not step into yonder pasture,
however the grass may be greener.
Do not follow the grass-flattened footsteps
who will lead you tither.
For the fickle will change
and though you may rage
and cry against your injustice
and spill tears that are useless.
To whom will you turn
when the wild winter wind burns
your face and tears your eyes,
as you stumble and chastise
your decision taken,
your intention mistaken.
For however that distant green field
may taunt you,
do not stray across those borders,
entrapped by those hoarders,
who will suck your soul
and bleed you dry and left to lie;
choked and broken