I’ve no great fondness for sheep beyond how they taste with mint sauce,
Though in winter it’s quite nice to have to hand a good woolly jumper, 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 it fell into the duckweed.
I’d like to say I pulled it 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.