I gaze upon yonder fields

Rolling hills beside the bay

A flock of sheep grazing

Dotted in a random pattern

Like chess pieces in the middle of a game

Munching their way up and down the hill

They were there yesterday and the day before

Oblivious to wind, rain or baking sun

An integral part of the landscape

What do they think of as they meander through that field

Are they in awe of the beautiful landscape

Do they chat amongst themselves and exchange sheepy gossip

Is there a leader in the pack directing their every move

We will never know unless we learn to speak sheep

One day the farmer will take some to market

Perhaps leaving some to grow fatter

I will watch over them as we eat our Sunday roast

Pouring gravy over my potatoes, peas and lamb

Whispering to the sheep in yonder pasture

Sorry I just ate your mother