Here's the only song I have ever written that I still perform. Several people have told me that it sounds traditional. The story comes from an old Dartmoor legend. There is more information about this at: http://www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk/grey_wethers.htm

Grey Wethers
============

To Newton Abbot's market fair
Upon a Saturday
I chanced to meet a dealer there
Who unto me did say
Who unto me did say

I've two fine flocks of sheep for sale
The best grey wethers they be
Over the hill beyond the dale
On Sittaford Tor you'll see
On Sittaford Tor you'll see

His price was twenty pounds all told
He seemed an honest man
I quickly paid with coins of gold
And for my horse I ran
And for my horse I ran

I rode away and hour at least
Til up upon a crest
There I pulled my noble beast
To take a minute's rest
To take a minute's rest.

Twas then I peered across the vale
And those grey wethers found
But they moved no more than any snail
You see upon the ground
You see upon the ground

I galloped on to that hillside
Amongst the heather and gorse
But there were no sheep a-grazing there
Just granite rocks of course
Just granite rocks of course

If you wander over Sittaford Tor
Tis true unto this day
You'll see fine flocks of granite stones
Just like those wethers grey
Just like those wethers grey

And if you go to the market place
To spend a pound or two
Be sure to see the goods you but
Or you'll be diddled too
Or you'll be diddled too

Rob Williams.