by Sandy B.
A brief attempt at describing a character in my paddock.
|Syd The Sheep.|
Syd stood in the middle of the round-a-bout
gazing at the grass.
But with every drop of rain that came
the grass just grew and grew.
No matter where Syd was placed he refused to chew.
A magpie perched upon his head
But still he did not flinch.
A pink galah sheltered under his legs
Syd stayed put he didn’t shift an inch.
The boys played soccer,
The dogs chased the ball.
But Syd the sheep just stood there,
He refused to budge at all.
He didn’t baa, he didn’t bleat,
Syd made no sound to hear.
He did not have thick curly wool,
For he was made from cast-iron I fear.