The Guides

We towards the honeycomb-seamless
Worker's paradise
Will pedal the velocity machines
Provided by the grace of the collective will
I will adjust the robes of my office;
You will tilt your ecclesiastical hat
Towards the effulgent horizon
Our dainty wards will trot single-file
Barely looking up from the volumes of hagiography
Or true crime sagas
We have provided them with for the duration
I will pause sometimes to wax my moustache tips
You will straighten a scholar's spine with a deft rap
We will reach long before dusk
Just in time to deposit our charges and wheel back
To the stall by the moat
Where we'll sleep, as usual
Dreaming of secular heaven.