In a meadow, not so green
Spotted with flowers few
Was a lamb with a feisty soul
And a spirit, everyday rekindled anew.
It would play like wild
And frolic gay
While those who followed
Would, its spirit try to slay.
Frantically, it once searched for flowers fresh
In its meadow brown and dry
And all the while, the sheep that followed
Would watch it fail and despair as they followed by.
Come with us, they bleated
When it was ready to be sheared
But, still with its feisty spirit,
‘No!’ It cried. ‘And succumb to my deepest fears?’
They laughed and laughed
At the thought of its rebellion,
And so shunning and condemning
They put it into a disgraced situation.
And until now, it remains as it almost feared.
To be an unsheared sheep
Forced to follow the sheared.