Dear Jim,

The sheep here are strange.

In fact they are down right weird.

But they are hilarious.

They are everywhere.

They are very vocal.

And they like to stand and stare at you awkwardly for extended periods of time.

They live a pretty cushy life, roaming the island as they please with no predators.

The highest risk they run is being blown off the side of a mountain by a gale force wind.

But they seem to have avoided that thus far.

So I penned a silly and terrible poem about them.

Ode to (arctic) Sheep

Oh arctic sheep, with gaze so bland

Your judgement fierce,

As you sunbathe on the sand.

On nimble toes,

You scale great heights

With alarming speed,

Your perilous plights

Take you right to the edge

Of the craggy cliff face,

In wind and rain

You still give chase.

Your screams and bleats

Cut across the tundra,

So passers by must stop and wonder

What terrible fate as befallen your flock,

But when they pause to enquire,

You stare blankly back in shock.

Your fat, awkward bodies,

Your corgie-like waddle,

Across the island

You graze and dawdle.

Oh arctic sheep, why do you stare?

What are you thinking?

Are you aware?

Why come so close?

Then run away?

Why do you scream?

What do you say?

Such strange enigmas,

You adventure and roam

On this blissful island

You call your home.