Did the white lightening strikes, alarm you? br Was the Thunders plowing, too deep? br Breaking, near to the sound barrier br br And bleaching, the wool, of our Black Sheep. br The pasture laid down, with burned edges br The water piled, in puddles, near to town br But the storms ravaging fever br br Would not, in any way, come down. br Nothing to do to appease it br But perhaps, caress its weary brow br Biding our time 'til it's full recovery br br The sheep, bleached white, in the barn, br Are safe now.