About the sheep

Small white house fence tattered,

most days held in

hundred wooly fluffs graze

as I pass by.

Rosie’s in the road again,

Turn around I stop and knock

dog barks and rushes the door

as a frail old maid steps out.

I speak of the sheep grazing in the ditch

fifty five miles this road they go,

she grabs a stick and herds her in,

be careful of the rams

she says with a grin.

eighty six and going strong,

these are her children,

the Romney herd,

lineage traced with care,

but not a lot of call for them she says,

out of money

and running out of time

she tells me of her simple life

though in a hurry I stay awhile

to listen to the tales she weaves

about these sheep and this life she leads.

Passage of time again I wander by,

smashed car in her drive

windshield shattered,

I pray all is well.

Mattress days later by the road,

no lights on

and no one home

the sheep disappear one day,

a truck backed up to the open gate

and I feel the sadness for the life that had been,

new car now and weeds grow high

no sheep to trim the lawn,

no Rosie in the road,

and I hope she has a flock above,

And that she is with her dear loved dog

and family souls long gone.

The shepherd sleeps in her fathers arms

tending the heavens

with wool and love

and no roads that harm.

Photo credit:  Sheep in the meadow-Dian Bernado

 

 

6 thoughts on “About the sheep

  1. Thank you Kat, they were cute fuzzy things, would love to have one or two but no time:) and the lady, I called her little bo peep, was quite active for her age, and all those sheep,,dead cold winter out tending to,them. Amazing soul:)

    Like

  2. Thank you so very much, I’ve been meaning to write about her for some time. I do not recall her name but she was a very nice lady. I drive by daily and miss the sights of the sheep and the dog herding, and window lights on to mark her presence.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I have read many poems about loss, and written a few as well. This one is extraordinary in its selection of emphasis–heartache is communicated and shared with both what is said and what isn’t. It is as touching as a gentle/strong hand.

    Liked by 1 person

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