The Gaggle of the Gullible
A Flock in the Oil-Fields
They gather ’round the wooden crate,
With smiles that seal a silly fate.
With “Empowered” books and eager eyes,
They’re ready for some feathered lies!
Like goslings following a quack,
They never think of looking back.
While oil rigs pump and banners fly,
They swallow every “honk” and sigh.
Their heads are bobbing in a row,
They waddle everywhere she’ll go.
She gives the word, they give a cheer—
The finest flock you’ll find this year!