Sheep

Sometimes they're out and about

on the edge of the woodland

sometimes they're not

in early winter

they take the last few bites 

of the grass that's left

with their heads down

a flock of sheep

the horns on their heads gently harms 

the skin of the earth

the sheep are scrambling

the marching order is a little chaotic

the shepherd woman begins to yell

the field of vision is not wide open

i can still see the gray wolfhound

staring majestically under the poplar tree that's lost its leaves

 suddenly it snarls and runs towards the rattled flock

suddenly the swollen formation shrinks

the status quo was quickly restored

and the shepherdess, the dog and the sheep began

another round of silence.



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