Are You a Swaledale or a Rough Fell, My Dear?

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.