Blue lamas watch for those
                   who miss the light,
                   hear them confess with sheepish grins,
                   allow the mass to cross,
                   change the light to shine
                   like the eyes of a Judas goat.

                   Below the crossing burns a bigger light:
                   its soft red signal blinks and throbs,
                   flashing its merry intercession
                   for the drowsy driver—
                   or the sheep that's lulled to sleep.
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