I knew a gnu. I knew a few,
in fact.
I'd ask my gnu for facts,
for acts of news,
for what was new among the gnus.
He'd tell me this and that,
a précis of the news,
omitting what was actually
grim. Not for him
attacks on facts.
For him what mattered was the true,
as it grew
(when nurtured, fed, and watered
by the few who knew a truth or two).
My gnu (this won't be news to you)
had screwed his head on, truly,
and told a few home truths.
Out loud. I was so proud.
Copyright © 2020 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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