A young sheep we’ll call Molly McEwe
she lived in a field outside Crewe,
no surprise, her mother did too.
Though her father she never knew;
he came in a truck, tupped a few,
then driven to pastures anew
leaving sheep with butts painted blue.
She had life with not much to do
graze all the field, chew, chew, and chew
occasional roll in...
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