As promised, a nice, death-free, springtime sestina about lambs.
This is inspired by a trip to Graves Park Animal Farm (Not an Orwellian theme park, sadly, but a petting zoo). It’s lambing time and our friends Rich and Hannah invited us to come with them and look at highland cows, interesting breeds of chicken and, crucially, baby lambs.
Having cooed and squeaked at the incredible cuteness, we eventually came upon a small, baldish, wrinkly, pink lamb lying on its side in the stall. It says something about our personalities that I went ‘Ew, lizard-alien lamb’ before moving on to cuter specimens, and my wife gazed concernedly at it for a good quarter of an ahour and eventually asked an employee about it. Turns out that, unlike its fluffier sibling, this one took after his father, a curiously reptilian looking breed of sheep called a Lancashire Blue. Panic over.
This, combined with a Big Tent Poetry prompt to write about being small, inspired the following.
For your reference, here is the star of the poem, pictured with his mum.
“Oh, look how tiny, see them, arent they sweet?”
They crowd around and peer into our stall,
“Look, that one’s standing: only born today!
Her wool’s still damp and sticky, she’s brand new!”
And then they spot me, lying in the straw
“Oh dear, that one’s so delicate and weak!
His skin’s translucent, and he’s far too weak
To stand. So sad. The other one’s so sweet
This one looks alien, there on the straw.
Just lying in the corner of the stall”
I feel indignant, if they only knew
How they’re insulting me on my first day!
Just like my sister, I was born today.
A lot of us are being born this week
It seems. And so, to us the world is new.
We know that straw is warm and milk is sweet
And that the humans come up to our stall
And comment on us, lying in the straw.
My pretty sister gambols in the straw
A little ball of fluff. And in the day-
Light that streams full into the stall,
She looks so strong and joyful. I look weak
And pitiful. I know I’m hardly sweet:
All knobbly kneed, and bald. But if they knew
My lineage they’d see: A breed brand new,
A half lancashire blue lies on this straw!
My proud, bald head’s distinguished, if not sweet.
I’m lying down ’cause I was born today:
It’s really tiring! You’d be feeling weak
If you had just plopped out into this stall!
I guess I’d better walk around the stall
To show I’m not half dead. It’s time they knew
Or else they’ll just be worrying all week.
I raise my head and stand up in the straw.
And now I am the hero of the day!
“The little one has found his strength, so sweet!”
It’s true I’m weak – I cannot leave the stall.
But milk is sweet, and everything is new.
I’m happy in the straw on my first day.
Tom Juniper Poetry 