Baa Baa Black Sheep

She knitted her brows
and needled you the mornings after;
the woven yarn was running out
and bags were seldom full.

The bad bad black sheep
who opted out, refused to play;
the one in a hundred gone astray
that none turned back to keep.

None for the master you despised;
None for the dame in disaffection.
Do-Little's two-headed Llama
pulled apart in both directions.

None for the lamb-white dame
of old who answered all your questions;
left with library books of Feynman,
and a letter sent to Stephen Hawkins.

Resigned to life's absurdities:
Do-little's talking animal
who talked to God when full of whiskey.
It's rainbow sheep now-a-days.

When blackthorn blooms in gentle rain
I look for the little boy
who lived down the lonely lane.
He's under the haystack fast asleep;
as bone-white now as any other sheep.