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