This is a story of a young, naïve, small lamb,
Who learned the paths of the great world,
In a much painful way.

At one springs morn,
As he was walking in the meadow,
Feeding upon the green fresh grass,
A thorny shrub had pricked his side, and suddenly
exclaimed:
"Oh, who is this? A lamb? I am not used to crowds."
"I am not hurt," answered the lamb,
"A minor scratch, that's all.
There is no crowd, I am alone,
No one has followed me."
"These are good news indeed, my lamb.
Your folk might do much harm to my poor boughs, and tread
all over me."
"But I was harmed, not much, as I have said,
Yet your own branches are in tacked - you needn't worry,
sir."
The shrub then cried: "How dare you, lamb?! To doubt the
need of my own worries?! I know your folk, they are a mob,
and surely mercy they have not!"
The little lamb licked on his bleeding scratch.
He understood that here the victim would be blamed,
So on he went.

The young lamb reached the road by noon, and to himself he
said:
"Here there're no shrubberies at all,
To put on me the blame.
I think I'll walk along this road,
And have a look around."
But a few yards he passed, and then -
A yell: "Why?! Why?! How can they?! Oh!"
A cat was sitting on the road, he wept:
"Why do the dogs pursuit us, cats?
They hate us all, I know.
But what we've done? Whom have we harmed?
Oh no, oh no, oh no!"
The lamb felt sorry for the cat,
"They hunt us all!" he said,
"Simply because we're cats."
"But that's no reason! That's no cause!" The lamb exclaimed,
outraged.
"If there's no blame of yours, they should
Not harm you - that's a fact!"
A rustle in the grass they heard,
The cat pricked up his ears,
A small grey mouse peeped up, and lo -
It's in the cats' sharp teeth.
"Oh no! Don't eat it!" Cried the lamb.
The cat gave him a grin.
The mouse squeaked, helpless, hit the ground
The cats' claws caught him.
"I am not hungry," he explained
"But it's a mouse, you see.
I simply caught it for delight,
It's just a game for me."
"A game for you?" wondered the lamb
"But it's no play-time for the mouse,
You, sir, are hunting him!
You hunt him simply since he is a mouse!"
To stay there the lamb wanted not -
Thus he continued on.



Then came he to a great big tree,
An oak, with arms spread wide.
A great dark shade covered the ground,
All round the mighty trunk.
A cloud came floating in the sky, the light grow dim at
once,
And then the oak cried gloomily: "I need light!
Damned be the cloud above!"
"Oh, sir, you're right! You surely are!" at once agreed the
lamb,
But then he gave a look around and saw but a few plants.
"Well, you do also shut the light
For those of lesser height.
And whilst the cloud would leave, you are here at all
times."
The oak gave him no answer, but - he quivered all with
wrath.
The lamb was frightened by this jest, so quickly on he
went.

He raised his head, up to the sky
Where the great sun had shone.
"You should be smiling, little lamb."
She said to him -
He looked at her.
"Yes, you're right, mam. Yes, I know,
I'm just a bit confused, that's all."
The sun looked on our little lamb,
And softly said to him:
"The most important thing in life
Is never to be grim.
You have to smile all the time, whether or not you're at
your prime."
But as these words came out from her,
The lamb noticed a change:
Her shining face was different now -
Not golden-yellow, but blood red.
Now she looked angry, weary, sad,
Contrasting all that she has said.
The lamb thought:"She's exactly like the rest"
He let her set into the west,
And went, continued on.

At last, when there was but little light,
He reached the great blue sea,
And from the murmur of the waves,
These were the words that came to him:
"Oh little lamb, I am the sea.
The great yet true to all.
You should learn from me, my lamb,
To be equal with everyone -
The great the same as small.
My level stands at the same high
All over the great world,
And thus no one could ever find
My fairness being spoiled."
The lamb was weary,
Long he walked,
He trusted the great sea.
Right there at his side, on the shore
He lay down, and fell asleep.

At night, while our little lamb had slept,
The sea raised up his palms.
Was he still being fair to all?
The tide was far too high.

At morning time, the little lamb
Was still at the shore.
Curled up, his hair was wet,
Shining with little water drops
As with the suns' first light they've met.

Yes there he lay,
There on the sand -
A small, naïve, dead lamb.