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If I must be a sheep let me be Shaun!

Not some dull ewe, out grazing in the rain

Tupped twice a year till the next lambs are born

Then doing - again and again

Until it's time to greet the butcher's axe

Dividing leg from best end, Barnsley chops,

Honey-basted, minted, ribs in stacks,

Each living sinew packaged for the shops.

I'd like to think my mind was worth something,

A consciousness, a personality

That had some value, individual worth,

Rather than some atoms set to be

            Reformulated as a rock or tree

            With nothing left of what once was me.

Brian Hick May 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 4.6.25