Cleo and our neighbor’s sheep
Last night Amy and Cleo and I went across the street to visit the sheep. Our neighbor Kathy came out and let us into the yard where Cleo was filled with utter delight. Put me in mind of this classic, which I haven’t read in a long time:
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Little Lamb I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb I'll tell thee!
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
This poem is like the air. It’s crazy that it had to be written. It feels like it never wasn’t. Though I guess when I was, or am, it always was and never wasn’t.