The Land of Whistling Sheep

(Canto I)

In a land far, far away

(Though I crossed but eighteen seas)

I came across a sweeping bay

All strewn about with wicker knees.

I journeyed there by rowing boat,

The smallest boat you ever saw.

It had tall masts and curling sails

And it had a hundred rooms and more.

By day and night we sailed abroad

Steered by the Captain's wooden hand,

Until by chance we came upon

A very long forgotten land.

The skies were dark

The trees were tall

The fiercest winds they soon did stir

And rain began to fall.

In search of dry we went ashore

Through the purple foam

And in some woodland made our camp

Where we set up home.

We called our land "Traffic-light"

We thought it wouldn’t change

But the longer that we spent there

The sooner it got strange.

The tall trees they would talk to us

The rocks they ate our shoes

And wandering on the shoreline

Were sheep of different hues.

All the sand was edible

But all the plants were not

And the sun would always cool us down

Whilst the moon was far too hot.

For several days we stayed ashore

Conversing with the larch

But the sheep became more hostile

And towards us they would march

Under cover of the night

Whilst we tried our best to sleep

We were plagued by burning moonlight

And malicious whistling sheep.

So soon we did set sail again

Every man aboard our craft

Or so we thought, but we'd left poor Sam

And he didn't have a raft.

For shore again we headed

Hoping to save our man

But our boat was fiercely captured

By a great big bearded ram.

He charged and charged with all his force

His sheep attacked and changed our course

Whilst Captain cried, "Look out! Mayday!"

Our men were snatched and borne away.

We found them later in some caves

They knew us not, for their heads span

And all enchanted there they sat

Mumbling wildly, "No, no, not Stan!"

©The Poetic Priestess 2001