#18

sheep poem
From: 2heads1blog (noreply@zohowriter.com)
Sent: Friday, 13 July 2007 11:33:02 AM




A Poem about sheep...



Over the hilltops and down in the glens, I noticed that sheep do not live in their pens; they cling to the mountains and high rocky tops: how on earth do they get there without their Reeboks?



If one of you found a gap in a stone wall,
the rest of you—rams, ewes, bucks, wethers, lambs;
mothers and daughters, old grandfather-father,
cousins and aunts, small bleating sons—
followed onward, stupid
as sheep, wherever
your leader’s sheep-brain wandered to.

Lambs

White ones, black ones

Running in the meadow

Growing wooly, mother watches.

Sheep!