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.