The ram is elemental in his strength,
stalking about the autumn’s work, his lip
lecherously curled as he tracks the ewes.
Who would suspect a beast of courtesy?
Yet watch his manners from the first approach
and delicacy is the ruling code –
soft his advances, till consent is given.

The world is full of knowing little minds
that twist and poison but that never speak.
The ram and his magnificence deride
their taint of shame, cut off from the deep well
of adult tenderness. Such secrecy
makes sex a monster, spoken of only
in whispers. How can whispers say,
because she does not lie or blush
my child of ten might not be innocent?

Hold me, my love, my strength, and let us make
our one safe haven with our children here
tending the sane, unknowing animals.