Eight sheep for shearing at the water’s edge
Branded by farmer on tender wicker root leg
Proud with baldness under the saffron hedge
Content that the dried sunburned land could not renege

Like farmer did to the acrossthefence sheep
Steel promises transformed hasty slivering sleep
Reap the cotton furs of our brethrens meat
Our coats shone brighter or maybe we didn’t bleat,
So much as them; a prize for the pretty eight sheep

But we kept tented eye camped on the fields elope
Across the fence where the leafy winds whined the slope
Quiet like an empty hospital room.