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.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
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.