My lady of quaint sorrow,
I beseech thee.
I have forgotten all my wisdom,
and failed to protect my sheep.
The winter is coming,
I fear they will meet their end
and I would not fight your rule but to say
“they are young and have only begun to fluff
they graze the pastures as if they will never leave
they have not felt the buzz of a machine.”
My lady of quaint sorrow,
I will submit to thee.
But as of now the time is not right,
and I am needed amongst my sheep.
–
See you in another day,
SA