Poddy Mark II

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.

The Poddy

Plaintive bleats fall on deaf ears.
Mother ewe has decided,
The strongest of the twin lambs will survive.
We check the paddock with our torches.
We hear the slow movement of hooves.
Some alarmed bleating,
As small families are disturbed.
We catch four shining jewels in the torch light,
Eye shine of mother and babe.
But a small one is alone.
It cries piteously.
On unsteady legs it moves toward us.
A decision.
If it is there on our return,
From our circuit,
Still alone,
We will take her inside.
After our tour we see her,
Pathetic cries tug at our heartstrings.
We have a poddy.