The Parable of the Tangled Lamb

The lamb was tangled
in the soccer goal netting
behind the house where

a hole in the fence
had let the sheep wander in
to graze on the lawn

from the adjacent
pastureland of Kilmichael.
My wife and stepson

and I were in the
churchyard next door perusing
tombstones among which

some were dated to
the medieval period.
My wife the lovely

archaeologist
was enthusiastically 
scraping off the moss

and snapping photos
while I pondered possible
ancestral surnames

from more recent ones,
wondering if McIntyre,
John and Margaret,

could be my kin, based
on my father’s research on
our family tree.

Just then my stepson,
looking over the stone wall,
pointed out the lamb,

quite entangled and
looking like it might strangle
itself in struggle,

bleating to raise the
dead. Tom and I raced over,
first knocked at the door,

then, no one answering,
circled around to the back
to come to the aid

of the hogtied lamb.
My childhood of sheep herding
with my dad came back

to me as Tom and
I squatted there taking pains
to disentangle

the little fellow
and set him free. The other 
sheep had already

exited the yard
and returned to their pasture.
The lamb followed suit.

---

---