Luke and I met on the river Framingham;
Far out of earshot of a wooly, silent lamb.
When first we met, we drew arms as foes,
Before we opened minds and twinkled toes.
A town left desolate from years of battle,
Nothing left but thousands of brown cattle.
We gave each cow a name and metal tag;
Prescience we had not to see the steep crag.
We tumbled slow at first, then all at once
Our sight went dark and limbs were broken.
Chewing cud, they sat and watched us fall;
If only we had thought ahead to build a wall.