I’ve no great fondness for sheep beyond how nice they taste with mint sauce,

Though in winter a woolly jumper is always nice to have, of course.

I suppose some people like their milk, and it’s cute the way lambs leap about,

And I concede I’ve sung “Little Bo Peep” more times that I can count.

Other than that, I am fairly indifferent to the life of the average sheep,

They’re fairly dim (as animals go); they do nothing but chew grass and bleat.

Nevertheless I am, tonight, a bit of an ovine saviour,

For today a sheep fell in the river, and thanks to me, they saved her.

Out I was, upon a walk, limping o’er the pasture,

(I hurt my knee the day before couldn’t walk it faster).

When out of nowhere came a dog, not upon its lead,

And chased the poor old ewe until she stumbled into duckweed.

I’d like to say I pulled her out with a contraption of pulleys and rope,

But actually all I did was ring someone to send a bloke.

Still, I like to think that something good’s come of this day,

If only in a funny, woolly, ovine sort of way.