Poundberry Hill

(If A.E .Housman had written  Thomas Hardy's 'A Sheep Fair.')



 
In autumntime at Poundberry
    They hold the great sheep fair;
'Tis said there are ten thousand
    In wet and woolly wear
    As daylong rain falls there.
 
It drips from dogs and buyers,
    The shepherd lads, who smell,
Penned ewes with sponge-like fleeces  
    From down and wold and fell,
    And beards wrung out as well.
 
The globe has turned full often
    Since those doomed lots were sold.
The auctioneer no longer
    Is drenched and hoarse and cold
    Snug in his bed of mould.

Jerome Betts

If you have any comments on this poem, Jerome Betts would be pleased to hear from you.