Do not fuck sheep: any reading of this poem seems inevitably to lead to the conclusion that this is the underlying message here. Why, one might ask, did Mr. Deane feel it necessary to tell us that sex with sheep is a bad thing? Does he know something that everyone else does not? It may be that Mr. Deane, who comes from New Zealand, has greater experience than the rest of us in these matters and therefore feels it his duty to warn us of the dangers (disease, infestation, etc.) that one might have to face when embarking upon a career of sheep-abuse, but one cannot help feeling that his imagination is getting the better of him when he suggests that the likely outcome of such activities is being murdered by killer sheep in dapper black outfits. He is perhaps crediting these creatures with more intelligence and craft than is their due. He also talks about ‘innocence debase[ing]’. Well, all I can say to that is that if there is any such thing as an innocent sheep then I have never encountered one. My Pauline certainly got around, and as for Lulubelle, she was a whore (CH).