Out & About …

… on the North York Moors, or wherever I happen to be.

V-ewes of Roseberry

We’re art, a drove of sheep without a shepherd,
and I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

So where are you being driven?
Nowhere! Then you must be a flock.
And what big teeth you don’t have, for a wolf.

No, we’re a hurtle or a trip
making eyes at you, baa none.

Why that’s so be-ewe-tiful,
I didn’t know ewe cared.
But how do you tell you sheep from the goats,
Come now, don’t pull the wool over my eyes.

Oh no, in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,
it’s all gone pear-sheeped.
We are really as gentle as lambs,
the sheep of things to come.

Don’t be hewemiliated.
I’d better hit the hay
for counting these sheep
it’s pasture my bedtime.

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