To Sheep

A silly poem I wrote about the fruit-sheep emoticons in EK.

To Sheep, Perchance to Dream

The day is done. My work is not,
but now my concentration's shot.
I seek the comfort of my cot -
the brain-death of my bed.

As I approach that ebon keep
befuddled by my lack of sleep
my puzzled ears are hearing sheep
from somewhere up ahead.

This keep, I know, does not exist
save in my dreams, yet in this mist
ahead my eyes and ears insist
here lies a house of dread.

Out from the keep: a groaning grind
of rusting hinges - sounds designed
to make my fragile guts unwind
and valour's armour shed.

The drawbridge drops (just like my jaw)
and spews perversions by the score.
'But how,' I ask, 'through what strange lore
were these foul fruit-sheep bred?'

Shenanas, vibrant, firm and long
lead forth the vanguard of the throng,
then Shoranges, their colour strong,
and Cheepies flaring red.

The Shrapes and Sherries surge on out
to swell the flock. They raise a shout
to their fell leader, I've no doubt,
'Evilo Overfed!'

Observing my incontinent pool
Evilosheep, the drab, the cruel,
bleats, slavering with bile and drool,
'You'll wish that you were dead!'

I pinch myself - can't break the dream.
My breath is short - my pulse extreme.
My rasped ovinophobic scream
falls in the fog like lead.

As mutant mutton troops advance
I contemplate the grim romance
that with the Shreaper I may dance,
my final thoughts unsaid.

A rapid beeping soon declares
that I had slumbered unawares.
I find my PC's keyboard squares
imprinted on my head.