The Owner's Frozen Fury. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The midnight air was sharp as steel,
A freezing pain I now could feel.
My heavy boots were left inside; In woolen socks,
I charged with stride.

Out in the drift, the blizzard blew,
And where they went,
I had no clue.'You foolish sheep! '
I loudly swore,
As frostbite bit me more and more.

My beard turned into solid ice,
For paying my child's mean advice.
I saw a tail, a woolly rear,
Buried in snow drifts, shaking with fear.

I grabbed the first by wool and hide,
And dragged it screaming back inside.
Then turned around to find the rest,
This frozen, arctic, midnight test.

My toes were numb, my ears were red,
I should be sleeping warm
in bed!
Two hours spent in freezing hell,
Before I rang the final bell.

All twenty-five were safe and sound,
No frozen corpses to be found.
But as I thawed my stiffened skin,
I planned a penance
for this sin.

A heavy hand, a wooden paddle,
Would soon begin the morning battle.
My son would learn, before the dawn,
To leave the barn doors tightly drawn!