A ram went off his herd
wandering in a lush valley.
He is an envy of his peers,
a headache for the shepherd.
Better he is dead
than his making our docility
more like timidity and ordinariness,
most blames him this way in secret.
A minority ewes may praise him
for his guts and Odysseus’s wild spirit.
They bleat loud toward him,
trying to call him back,
or even show their love.
The solitary sheep does want a company,
but he insists on a condition
that a caller should split from the frock
and become a roaming ewe.
Their mutual bleats go nowhere,
’cause that for ewes is too much,
and the herder perceives a threat
and harbours a heinous design
that he is better completely lost
or be sacrificed right at the spot.