Yan, Tan, Tethera

Yan, Tan, Tethera… the shepherd counts his sheep;
I wonder, as he counts them, does he ever fall asleep?
The woolly flock, in rank and file a military disgrace,
Flee from the friendly shepherd in a crazy, ram-led, race.

I wonder does the shepherd ever wonder of his flock
If they really understand that they’re an edible kind of stock.
Or do they graze unwitting of their butcher’s destination,
That their legs will soon be dinner for a hungry human nation.

They’re the dumbest kind of creature and yet they have their charm
As they move in wavelike motion across the hilly farm.
The wonder is the pasture on the slopes will turn to meat
(Or some creamy dairy product: milk or cheese) for us to eat.

Life for the sheep is simple though it has its share of threats:
The winter’s bite at lambing; the fox or wolf that sets
Its hungry sights on lambs and sheep that, heedless, carry on,
Leaving safety to the shepherd or to the farmer’s gun.

I sit and think on these things as the dish comes to the table,
The mint sauce on the sideboard – that’s not too execrable.
For th’ambition of the farmer with the lonely shepherd’s aid
Is to fatten them for slaughter – then the table's truly laid!

The head in the window

I sat in the car whilst it sat in the window
And stared down at us in the street
Its glassy eyed look reflected the sun's glow
Through the glass of its window ledge seat.

The head was of paper, in fact, papier-mache,
Pink painted to look just like skin.
I wonder, in this street, if there is some cachet
In windows with heads sitting in.

It's a quite eery feeling to see that head peering
And gauging street life as it looks.
Is each person and vehicle as they're appearing
Recorded in his secret books?

Or does he just sit and secretly ponder
Philosophical thoughts on this place?
Of matters like this I can only wonder
As I stare at his motionless face.

Why was he made and who was it made him?
I don't suppose I'll ever know.
Such things can be planned or result from some whim:
I suppose it will always be so.

It's amazing that such a pink model head
Arouses in me so much thought;
My queries unanswered even by the well-read
On this vision that I never sought.

So farewell paper head, now in verse made immortal -
You'd think I might choose different theme.
But in truth I came out by some very strange portal
Where nothing was quite what it seemed.



We had driven to visit someone in Park Avenue, Hull and I parked just outside the building where she resided. As I switched off, my wife drew my attention to a papier mache model head in an upstairs window peering out into the street. She said it had given her a start as she noticed it and for a moment thought it might be a real person. The eyes were open and large, white against the pink of the face. I decided to write a line or two about it as we wondered what its history was. The question will never, I guess, be answered.

Sunday rain

Sunday morning. Come awake and welcome this new day
The bedclothes thrown, the curtain tweaked but all we see is rain.
The gutters run, the pools are formed, the mud grows from the clay
Yesterday we had such sun - now we have rain again.

Why is it always Sunday that the sky seems made of lead?
Why do we watch the window where the the raindrops form a trail?
And if you think about it, why are we out of bed?
We could watch from on our pillows and see every detail.

Sunday is the day when we just want to take a walk,
Bathed by the sun, enjoying all of nature's song.
On Sunday we could sit outside and drink our wine and talk,
Enjoying garden flowers, knowing it's where we belong.

But the problem we encounter is the rain that falls and falls
Preventing us from going to the countryside to stroll.
So the sun and birds and flowers that to our spirit calls
Are lost and hidden from us leaving just a barren soul.

Lord, I know the rain is needed to help the plants and flowers
But does it really need to fall on Sundays and for hours.
I'll keep on looking out until the sun is breaking through
And then I'll take a country walk and maybe I'll take you!