She is a little cross-bred ewe.
The farmer has grown soft in his maturing age.
" He just can't knock them on the head anymore."
So we have her,
To feed with a bottle.
Bleeding hearts do not understand the cost,
Of a poddy lamb to the economy of a farm.
We are not farmers,
We can be indulgent.
So tonight we will bring her inside,
To be close to the fire,
To give her a better chance.
Hopefully we will find her bleating-hungry in the morning.
Not succumbed to the stress of motherlessness.
Like Poddy Mark I.
Then we shall give her a name.
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