Poem by William Blake
How sweet is the Shepherds sweet lot,
From the morn to the evening he strays:
He shall follow his sheep all the day
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs innocent call,
And he hears the ewes tender reply,
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
Poem by Natasha
I’m going to take you on an Adventure to Galicia in Northern Spain …
The little girl loved the mountains,
Fresh air, rolling green hills,
The almond, walnut and olive trees,
The fruits ripe to pick in the gardens,
As the juices melted in a moment of berries and grapes,
The small stone houses, dirt tracks,
Slated black rooves, open doors,
Green and white pained windows,
Cold floors, and wooden layered bedrooms.
The cockerel would sing, it’s morning,
They all needed to be fed,
The pigs, donkeys, chickens, rabbits and sheep.
They all needed attention,
They all needed their daily walk and activities.
What, When, Who, Where and Why?
The shepherd had a choice of Who
Would be first,
Would be fed,
Would be nurtured,
Would be beaten with a stick for not being …
Why are they doing that Grandma?
Surely there is a better way?
What’s the hurry?
They are being hurt?
Is that the only way they learn?
Doesn’t that have a long term effect?
Are you only waiting until they are fat enough to eat them or there too tired to continue with life and living?
There is always Why and What happened to the Sheep?