Urban ewe

Upon the hills, dry brush prevails, Thriving still on winter rains, summer's tale. Soon, the sun's embrace will come, Kindling fears of an inferno, a fiery drum. To mow this meadow, what's the best play? A herd of goats and sheep, grazing all day, Heavy machinery falters on the steep hillside, But sheep and goats revel, clearing the weed far and wide. As the day wanes, the shepherd must truck, His flock homeward bound, no time to luck. Counted them all, or so he thought, Yet, a darling ewe, Valentine's joy she sought. Atop the hill, love's sweet rendezvous, The shepherd found her, enjoying the view.