There may be some collective word
But let's assume I saw a 'herd'
Of antelope near Bantry Bay.
They can't elope or sneak away.

They're stuck in fields with cows and sheep
To count until they fall asleep.
A simple life on someone's farm,
Enjoying West Cork's rural charm.

They tell the cows and sheep tall tales
Of sailing seas in fearsome gales,
Of killing lions, and tigers too.
They'd scare the sheep by saying 'boo'.

Their new owner's name is Ned.
He always keeps them warm and fed.
Each antelope is just a pet.
He bought them on the internet.

A man who lives a mile away,
Who owns some fields around the bay,
Bought fifteen monkeys months ago.
Each monkey's name, he doesn't know.

His neighbour, Ned, then felt a need
To buy some strange exotic breed
Of cattle or endangered sheep,
Too few to count to go to sleep.

He settled for the antelope.
His neighbour, Ron, can barely cope
With the way his monkeys act.
Once or twice he nearly cracked.

He wonders if they're all okay.
They do each other's hair each day,
And try each other's dresses on.
Their behaviour baffles Ron.

He doesn't know what tune they hum
Or where they got their dresses from.
Ned looks on with some delight.
The monkeys never drink or fight.

His manly antelope have brought
A sense of pride. He's glad he bought
These pets who never bark or moo.
And people pay to see them too.

He takes tour parties 'round his farm.
His comments always hint at harm.
"Those cows would kill, with half a chance.
At the very least they'd ruin your pants."

But people come to marvel at
The antelope, not cow nor cat.
Ron would rather hide his pets.
He wonders are there mental vets.