Sheep Life

In Spring, their cream-thick bleating
becomes ripe
with lamb's breath.

Summer, and their coats are matted with mother love.
From a distance
they are white paint-strokes
on green canvas.

Autumn sees their fleeces shed by shears.
Flesh coloured they re-emerge.
A herd of surprised aliens.

Winter, they are
large balls of wool and grit. Their saliva
drips on frozen grass. Steam
feeds the dank December air.

Andrea Bowd

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Andrea Bowd   would be pleased to hear them