The Sheep On The Hill Poem by David Medforth

There's sheep; sheep on the hill.
They look out for one and all.
Their woolen coats of hate and spite,
Out to get me, out to fight.

Heavily stacked the odds may be,
So keep these sheep away from me.
I'm careful where my feet are laid;
Scared of what the sheep have made.

I hear the bleating over there.
Vicious war cries, meant to scare.
They target me as I dictate
These words to you, they sit and wait.

They wait until the time is right,
They plot attack and then they strike.
Sightless things with deafening roars,
They've fought and won so many wars.

And on this night with misty chill,
The sheep have come; come to kill.
There's sheep I say. Sheep on the hill.