So she lams her own kids just for spite.
She looks at her spouse with deep loathing,
And sighs for her dead quadruped,
And wishes the "wolf in sheep's clothing"—
Her husband, were dead in his stead.
Alas, lass! You've forded the ferry;
Your tombstone was graven for two;
The lamb, chiseled there, stands for Mary,
And the Old English Mary for yew.
The lamb reached the end of his tether