Sonnet: The Poor Lamb

I eat the grass that grows in the meadow; I jump and play with joy after a drink; I walk back home when comes the Eve’s shadow; Death’s shadow lurks on me always, I think. Warm clothes men make with my hide for winter; My wool keeps them so warm in intense cold; They walk me to the house where they slaughter, And no one cares if I am young or old. I say ‘baa-baa’ to call my dear mother; I cry ‘baa-baa’ when I feed on the grass; I say ‘baa-baa’ when ’tis rainy weather; I cry ‘baa-baa’ seeing my master’s lass. When I am born to die, giving them meat, Why torture ’fore you earthlings can me eat?