The Sheep Poem by Paul Reed

Through the slit windows I spy
Gentle snow flakes hurrying by
Headlights shine in, then as quickly leave
Unknowing of my fate, I cannot grieve;

But you know, you that have put me here,
Your planning and cold thoughts were clear
Because I have no tears with which to cry
You have sentenced me to die;

Now whizzes past the ice cold morning air
There is grass and freedom to be tasted out there
But through the slit windows, all I spy
Are gentle snow flakes hurrying by