Jebediah was a Barbados blackbelly sheep with a biblical name.
He was a romantic ruminant who was chivalrous and tame.
Paulette was a science fiction novelist who never had time for the country life.
She spent her days grazing as a typist in the field and paper running rife.
Though they were the same species, Jebediah worked harder than she.
As a part-time lumberjack, he would daily chop down a tree.
His lumber would then be turned to paper in a highly industrial zone.
Though capitalism supported them both, they both felt quite alone.
They were bleating love. They were bleating love. They were bleating love all alone.
Paulette had sent the first run of her novel Ringwool to go to press.
She got a call though from Mr. Wolf to say the printer was in a mess.

Mr. Bear had a paper jam, and half the staff had been laid off.
And the company had invested all of their funds in Mr. Madoff.
She hung up the phone and shrieked a scream as she suffered this shearing madness.
Jebediah heard Paulette’s yell and saw that sheep stand in her sadness.
He asked her what happened, and treading tears, she told him of her caper.
Upon hearing the story, in all of his glory, he said, “Well, I make paper.”
They were bleating love. They were bleating love. They were bleating love all along.

“These are the blueprints of my book” showed Paulette to this pastoral pariah.
He said, “Let me get to work. And, by the way, my name is Jebediah.”
“Before I forget, my name is Paulette,” she said, “but you must think I’m a nut.”
But as he took the rough draft in his claws, he got a paper cut.
“Do you have a bandage?” he asked, but then he said “Wait, never mind!”
Paulette said, “Sorry, Jebediah. But, hey, at least you’re not going blind.”
But then she realized, “Oh wait, there’s a mistake,” and took the first page back.
But she got a paper cut also and shouted interjections like “Ouch” and “Ack!”
They were bleating love. They were bleating love. They bleating love beneath the sanguine sun.

So, when you see a sheep my friend, don’t think that it is dumb.
And don’t think that it has no heart or is a lazy bum.
Anthropomorphic sheep in fact support private corporations.
They make paper goods and novels and thereby science fiction publications.
And wolves and bears do great work too when people least expect it.
But when their company succumbs to an economic crisis, the sheep will resurrect it.
And the only thing that gets in the way of progress is paper cuts galore.
So, my friend, avoid injury, and you’ll succeed, like sheep, forever more:
Cuz sheep are bleating love, bleating love, bleating love for laissez-faire.