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.