Spring again is in the air,
Lambs are frisking here and there, All blissfully unaware, Of how short their lives are to be.
So with you, I'd like to share, My feelings, which aren't so rare, (And I think you all will care)'
Of all that sheep mean to me.
As I'm sure you will agree, What Greater love can there be, Than love for a sheep roaming free, On bleak moorlands, so lonely?
Vicars while they sip their tea,
Say that it is sodomy,
But in order to disagree,
I took out my dictionary,
And looked up the word.
"Unnatural connection," it did say,
But what, than in the hay,
With a fleecy sheep to lay,
More natural could there be?
Surely it is crystal clear,
That the sheep and the mountaineer, Although sheep don't drink much beer, Are very similar as you'll see.
Both have coats of fleecy hair,
And underneath, both are bare,
(i.e. naked), but to be fair,
Climbers, their coats don't have to wear.
Sheep, often off cliffs so high,
Fall and than horribly die,
'Cos unlike birds, cannot fly,
Even though, they may try.
For climbers on the other hand,
Falling off is never planned,
But happens when they try to stand, On a non-existent ledge, and, Their arms suddenly give way.
So at last in summary,
What more normal could there be,
Than to take indecently,
>From behind, darling flossy,
Or others so dear to me,
Of her kind so wooly,
And mounted thus in ecstacy,
Copulate eternally?
(source: Castle Climbing Club)
