This Little Patch of Grass Is Mine

The world is really very big much bigger than a sheep or pig can understand, 'cos on a farm the size of things does not alarm, but far beyond a farm's domain are larger things to stretch the brain. I cannot ever really hope to understand this greater scope. Indeed, a little sheepie's brain was never built to take the strain and so I think of grass and sky, below, above, between am I and I shall simply be content within the place where I am meant to be: for all this world has got, I only have this tiny spot. Maybe the Universe, so great, can yet be claimed and can relate unto an ownership divine: this little patch of grass is mine.