Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow
And everywhere that Mary went the lamb was sure to go.
Throughout her life it dogged her steps, that lamb it was a pain;
It followed her each day to school and followed her home again.
It followed her to the bedroom, it followed her to the loo.
She wrapped its eyes in tissue so it couldn’t watch her poo.
It even followed her into the shower (an over-the-bath-type doofer)
Though it did have its advantages: she used it instead of a loofah!
It followed her to the Youth Club where she soon lost all her mates.
She never had a boyfriend because it followed her on dates.
It followed her when she went to work, it followed her on vacation.
She hadn’t a clue why it did it. There was no explanation.
She consulted a psychotherapist. He said, “I don’t understand fully.
I know about Pavlov’s dogs and such but not about anything woolly.”
He said, “I feel a bit sheepish. I can’t offer the poor thing healing.”
Mary exploded, “Sheepish!” she said, “How do you think I’m feeling?!”
“But let’s look on the bright side – I suppose I’m benefiting;
“I’ve no mates, no bloke, no job, no life – but I’m bloody good at knitting!”
So she set herself up in business; took over the Woolies brand
Manufactured everything knitted, the best in all the land.
She dominated in jumpers, she cornered the market in cardies.
Soon she became the talk of the town; got invited to all the best parties.
And trotting along behind Mary (begowned in her little black dress)
Came her trusty, ovine friend of old, the secret of her success.
Mary won the Queen’s Award – it was enough to make her weep.
The Queen met Mary at the Palace gates; her corgis greeted the sheep.
“Ooh look,” said the Queen to Mary, “Our pets are getting frisky.”
Mary smiled politely – though she knew in her mind it was risky.
Her sheep, you see, had a dodgy heart from having lived so long
But there wasn’t a thing that Mary could do – she had to wait round for her gong.
So all day long at the Palace the creature did gambol and frolic and leap
But Mary could tell it was not very well – it truly was a sick sheep
But there with the corgis on Buck Palace lawn she decided to let her sheep play.
“This is its finest hour,” she thought, “Every sheep must have its day.”
As they drove away from the Palace that night in the taxi that Mary had hired,
The sheep gave a start, clutched at its heart, gave one last bleat and expired.
Finally free of her woolly-fleeced pet, Mary mourned and grieved of course.
But she saved a packet on funeral costs – she just bought a jar of mint sauce!