'The Black Sheep'

This is a poem I wrote many years ago while at school. I will leave you to decide what its all about.



A mob of woolly white,
Grazing gaily neath the sun.
All nauseously alike –
All except for one.

The curious black sheep,
Unlit by Apollo,
Yet prominent among the heap
And unwilling to follow.

The mob gathers round,
For one has had a dream
Of carrots to be found
Somewhere along the stream.

The black sheep deems
That his friends are too excited –
Dreams are just dreams,
The carrots are not sighted.

The warning is ignored –
They want him to be wrong.
The first of the mob sets forward
And the rest just tag along.

The shadowy sheep stays put,
Now alone but still content
To enjoy the green beneath his foot
Just as sheep were meant.

Up and down the winding stream
They march in single file,
But the carrots of the dream
Remain elusive all the while.
Two black sheep now feast,
For the first has found a mate,
From a flock in the far East
That has joined the first mob’s fate.

The white mob loses track of time,
It ages without knowing.
Giving up would be a crime
But yet their wearied selves are slowing.

Black progeny now graze and laugh
As two older sheep look on.
As if the grass was not enough,
Now blessed with daughter and son.

No white offspring are to be seen –
No time for them to be bred.
As the questing mob dies seeking its dream
None follow in its stead.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
White sheep consumed by the land.
Each one leaves a patch of green
Where once he used to stand.

From this time till he’s gone,
Many days will pass
Where the old black sheep looks on
As his son feasts on the grass
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