I thought this was brilliant
Woolly Bleaters
by Tim Douglas
A farmer told me long ago
He hated sheep. I said "why so?"
Said he, "All sheep are woolly bleaters,
time consuming turnip eaters,
whose one ambition is to try
to find a different way to die.
All my working life I've tried
to stop this ovine suicide,
but living isn't in their nature.
A sheeps a kamikaze creature.
Yet sometimes farmers do quite well,
and have a lamb or two to sell.
But then, as sure as sure can be
some expert stands up on T.V.,
and firmly stabs the breeders backs,
says 'mutton causes heart attacks!'
It does of course; but not as meat;
It's only when it's on it's feet.
Things could be worse, I've heard folk say,
but darkness follows every day,
and pleasure always has it's take-down -
heart attack or nervous breakdown -
black depression, dark and deep,
caused by suicidal sheep."
Said I, "I understand your hate ,
but surely, when it's on a plate
and garnished with mint-sauce and peas,
would sheep, at least, your taste buds please?
I would have thought it surely would.
I've heard you're very fond of food."
He eyed his stomach, then replied,
"I must admit, I've often tried,
but though I'm noted as a glutton,
I couldn't stomach eating mutton.
It minds me of those days gone by
of watching sheep attempt to die.
And though I know it's been well-roasted,
I feel I tended it and lost it.
My mind, with hate, becomes unreasoned,
and though I know it's cooked and seasoned,
it isn't food that I see there.
It's four legs sticking in the air:
A suicidal woolly bleater,
any anything would taste much sweeter."
"Dead as mutton - that's for sure,
and no expression could be truer."
Topic: For those feeling a bit fed up with sheep (Read 2228 times)
