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By Jenny Moxham
Submitted by the author - 15 Mar 2004

The rain falls in torrents,
The icy winds blow,
But the sheep in the paddock
Have no place to go.

No warm barn for shelter,
No bushes ... no trees,
Just a bare windswept plain
Where they shiver and freeze.

They've been robbed of their coats,
They've been shaven and shorn,
Bedraggled and cold
The sheep huddle forlorn.

They're chilled to the bone
In the bitter cold rain.
They're freezing to death
On this cold, windswept plain.

But folk in the city
Share none of their woes,
They're decked out in wool
From their head to their toes.

Wool jumpers, wool jackets
Wool hats on their heads.
In their homes they've wool carpets,
Wool rugs on their beds.

'Neath warm woolen blankets
They blissfully sleep,
Never giving a thought
To the cold, forlorn sheep

Whose coats have been stolen
For humans to wear.
Oh why can't they see
That it just isn't fair.

In Australia one million sheep die of
exposure in the first 30 days after shearing

We welcome your comments:


Painting by Mary T. Hoffman - God's Creation in Art

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