The sheep

Wherever there’s greenery
On the aprons we note
There’s sheep bold and hardy
Woolly of coat
Their legs clearly able
To gradients go
Steeped in tradition
And feeling a glow
A contentment to wander
The bogs and the dry
To head up the mountains
Reaching their sky
Opportunity beckons
Wild grass real course
Providing them strength
By a true tour de force

Nothing appears hard
They just go everywhere
Fenced, open road through Snowdonia
Prayer
And thought for the danger
Of cars on the road
They just wander digesting
Creating a code, of wariness really
Wherever they be
Seemingly docile but on point actually

You see them up high
And down in the low
Out on the road
Where it’s dangerous to go
Loners, together all weathers
They seem
To be part of the fabric
A steady white stream
Picked out ever higher
Their legs seemingly
Carry them onward
And done zestfully

Angry cold winds
Do not deter
The lashing rain
When it does occur
It doesn’t phase them
They plough on anyway
Hardy and strong
On any given day

Truly organic and able to be
Breathing the air
Wonderfully free
In Wales in the mountains
They are just always there
Plotting their course
And always they dare

Wonderfully adaptive
Genuinely so
With a confident sir
No where they won’t go
Skirting the roads
At the edges they ply
The energy needed
To reach for the sky
To get lost in the midst
Relatable time
And be found one assumes
Wherever they climb.