Edward The King
No kinder face, no more beautiful soul
than the ram I called King.
His June birth destined him to be a lamb for the table
but my pleading to the shepherd
“oh his lovely wool Diana, his solid frame,
to be the champion of the flock,
I’m sure he is able!”
He did not disappoint, this gentle little ram,
he took the mantle of king
and ruled his kingdom a sire to many a regal lamb.
Year after year his progeny born,
beautiful sweet-faced sheep with curly wool
vigorous - hardy they were.
Yes he was King.
A gentleman for his sons, daughters
and subjects to admire and adore.
His wool to win the blue - despite the claim
that quite possibly the fleece was not from a ram
or even had the Border Leicester name.
But win he did and passed along the DNA of
the perfect locks, and silkiness that was his fame.
As the years progressed his gait slowed
and his strong body began to fade.
He was still Edward the King of Windsor, his legacy had been made.
He passed his twilight time at the farm,
not sent to an undignified fate,
as some old sheep are.
The torrents and fury of a storm in late fall
ushered the old king to greener pastures
tended by the Good Shepherd to all.
A monarch has passed but his greatness remains
King Edward lives on in those who carry his name.
Prince Dreamer ascends to the throne now to make his own way
in the shadow of the King.