We can’t yet be sure what make of sheep you are, my dear
With your long legs so typical of those that leap from rocks
In streams and boggy marsh grass unperturbed, untroubled
With ease and grace of movement that makes you splendid.
And there again, your black face and ears so keen to study
The human staring at you too, making an absorbing picture
Of connection between our species as you urgently wonder
What kind of man am I that may bring dangers or delights.
And also, your marvellous fleece so trim, yourself so athletic
We do believe you are a Swaledale ewe my dear, or perhaps
A Rough Fell and think perhaps you know which ewe is you
Hoping you’ll be kind enough to make this information known.
Your shepherd surely knows but has he the time to greet you
Addressing only you on just your parentage and genealogy?
When hundreds of your kind are in his mind and apprehension
Is this your final call or spared for one last round of breeding?
Well, it seems to me that all these questions wait on answers
For we have met and hope to meet again near Padley Gorge
Up here on the High Peak is surely something to desire again
As Winter fades and Spring bedecks her glades with flowers.