Sheep Poem by Ghost Legend

I wake, tend to the sheep,
Whom much too long
Had wounds from flies,
Even though the problem
Stared right at me—
The p- - - in my eyes.
I hear a neighbor calling
This pig somewhere ‘round.
There isn't mud far off to see;
He mustn't work awhile.
I travel back to my reality:
A monitor escaping all.
No one has responded,
Even though it's been weeks—
Are no friends in this world?
But, still, I wonder,
If like the sheep,
No one sees how it hurts.