Camping by a field of sheep That baa throughout the night – The farmer says each ewe must peep To check her lamb’s alright. One wonders if they ever sleep, Or keep a state of fright ? But we are hypnotised by sweeping Bleats by Luna light. Until the dawn brings cheap-cheap-cheap That sound too fresh and bright – At least the sheep were slow and deep As they camped besides the site.
I don’t know why the wilderbeest Deserves a second name – Of all the cattles, he’s the least From a European frame. We don’t see herds of wilderbeests In the hills of Tuscany, Or sweeping down from out the East To the beaches of Torquay.
I don’t know why he has a G That is and isn’t said – These grammar rules are traps for me, Like cowpats where I tread. My tolerance for the dear gnu Is very nearly full – So whether with one beat or two, He’s a very silly bull.
All mammals can swim, Or least, can float, Just paddle each limb And be the boat. It may be slow, And lacking grace, But it lets them row To a dryer place.
Even the elephant, Hedgehog, or bat, Even the fattest Or scardiest cat, Even the kangaroo, Aardvaark, or aye-aye – You know why it’s true ? Cos they’re mammals, that’s why !
All, that is, except for one – The landlubber giraffe. Once evolution had its fun, They’re not safe in the bath. It’s strange the way that they capsize, You’d think they’d learn to cope When possessed of long and mighty thighs, And a built-in periscope.
But on the land They look such gentry, Tall and grand When standing sentry. They are the backlash To the trout, Who make a splash By standing out.
The sudden shriek of a seagull Takes me back to the ozone, back to the seaside – To those Summers of sand and Ninety-Nines, Where the fish is fresh and the Sun still shines. From ever since I was knee-high, Be it Bournemouth, Paignton or Ryde. The seagulls were my holiday guide.
But these days, the seagulls are ev’rywhere, Yes, even in Winter, even in the bleak – When gloomy days in gloomy suburbs See dozens pecking kebabs from the kerbs, With ev’ry beak in a mocking shriek. Well, go ahead, gulls – for a second there I was back on the prom without a care.
When I first heard of what made androids dream, I wanted to know much more – Like where are the hordes of electric sheep All under the crook of a cyber-Beau Peep ? Yet ev’ry pasture dotted with white may teem With robotic ewes by the score, And so well made are these flocks of steel, They bleat and follow just like real… Do their eyeballs glow with a laser beam That the ravens quake before ? Are their horns antennas, warning of fox ? Does their wool discharge with electric shocks ? I swear these sheep aren’t all they seem, It’s folly to just ignore… For the folds are filling with a new kind of lamb, A bellwether seeking to upgrade their ram.
Chickens can fly, if they want to, Turkeys too, Though they rarely do. Peacocks can manage the haul, Tails and all, When they need to shoo. So don’t let anyone tell you That they’re grounded – he hasn’t a clue. They may be lazy, yes, And yet these flightless always flew.
The old railway tunnel is gated now, The trains haven’t run for years. The bells never chime in the minster tower, The saints needn’t cover their ears. The caves are abandoned by hominids, And the pillboxes carry no guns. Besides from tramps and adventurous kids, Then the bats are the only ones.