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This morning, I went for a walk;
A stroll in winter’s morning chill.
I’d had a breakfast of fried pork.
For lunch I hoped to find road kill.

There were some toads squashed here and there.
A snake had clearly met his end,
But nothing I considered fare
Until I walked around a bend.

There lying in a crumpled heap,
(He’d surely parted from his flock)
There lay a bruised and bloodied sheep.
He’d suffered from a fatal knock.

It was a shame he’d come to harm.
A tragedy he’d had to die.
My wooly friend had bought the farm.
For lunch I’m having shepherd’s pie.

Copyright © Dennis N. O’Brien, 2011

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