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Aug 2016
the bleats of scores and hundreds of shorn sheep
all trying to find their friends (they do have friends)
in the melee across the fields after being set free from the shearer.
Its one continuous song, will go on into the night, these few very special days in the year. I will miss it when it stops. Like all the songs of nature.
Unique and familiar. I wonder if they hear my poetry.
Written by
nivek
321
   Alin, --- and Micahel De Tomasso
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