Wheels tumbled down
The steep and patterned way,
Over the melodic white and black peaks
And through tall, grand gateways
Into a meadow full of wonder, colour,
And the yearning for adventure.
That was my sheep.
With soft and curly wool
And the bluest of eyes.
His name was Mouton.
He was just as fierce.
He was just as sturdy.
He was just as fragile.
That’s how we were linked.
Mouton and I shared the same tenacity.
Through the hardships of war,
And the challenges of politics,
Like Mouton, I stand strong and live for the adventure.
When brothers venture off to the fight,
The young’ns stay behind.
What fueled our passion for adventure
Was to hear those tales of faraway places.
And dream of how we too, could tour those distant lands.
It is true that wheels break off over time,
But it doesn’t matter.
The spirit still stays
And the tenacity still endures.
That was my sheep.
His name was Mouton.
