Sonnet: The Poor Lamb
I eat the grass that grows in the meadow;
I jump and play with joy after a drink;
I walk back home when comes the Eve’s shadow;
Death’s shadow lurks on me always, I think.
Warm clothes men make with my hide for winter;
My wool keeps them so warm in intense cold;
They walk me to the house where they slaughter,
And no one cares if I am young or old.
I say ‘baa-baa’ to call my dear mother;
I cry ‘baa-baa’ when I feed on the grass;
I say ‘baa-baa’ when ’tis rainy weather;
I cry ‘baa-baa’ seeing my master’s lass.
When I am born to die, giving them meat,
Why torture ’fore you earthlings can me eat?