Two Hundred Grounded Sheep

Two Hundred Grounded SheepNight had draped its gloomy cast,
Over hill and meadow,
Two hundred sheep stand still,
Their shadows murky pools in the dark grass.

Shepherd dogs lay to the side,
Their ears perked for the night clatters,
Eyes closed,
The soft wind swirls over distant scents,
To their wet snouts

Bleats are produced and returned,
As the herd graze in laud silence,
Bats take sharp turns over head,
Chasing elusive mosquito clouds,
Swarming in the rising warm breath.

First call for help is heard beyond the distance,
Heads turn in the direction of the farm fence,
Jaws move in constant ruminant,
No hoof is lifted for a run.

More calls arrive, repeated,
People in their beds, lay waiting for a count,
Eyes closed, or staring at the ceiling,
The fence remains unchallenged,
The world remains awake.


January 21, 2015

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