The sun cresting low over hills in the East
rays of shining grace paint a picture of peace
It's misty this morning, far from village's streets
dew soaking my moccassins as I gather tillage for sheep
the sweet loving licks of lily and lilac in brilliant streaks
filling the grass with innocent splendor, the mill spins and creaks
the wonderful medicine, its smell is so sweet
the trickling river fills the wheel and enters the teeth
energy unleashed and slowly grinds the grain
to feed the sheep who've slowly dried from rain.
The night before fallen, their wool soft and so bright,
glinting and glowing as it is caught in the light
behind a wooden fence, I greet them all with delight
"Good morning friends! I hope it's all been alright!"
my hands grip the bag, it's brimming with feed -
I tilt it and pour all whilst grinning with glee
the burlap exterior feels quite rough to the touch
down into a trough, I give them something to munch
the bleating ewes all start prancing excitedly
they dance at the sight of me
and perhaps as thanks they stand so invitingly
I hop the fence with shears in my hand,
pat one on the head, begin shearing its back
soon, that which is shorn shall reappear and in tact
and I shall gain a sweater, or shawl, or perhaps a sphere that's is wrapped
to be sewn into clothes fit for steering this pack
when winter comes bringing cold I shall fear not its wrath!
A smile on my face, naught but cheer in my grasp
O', my friends have brought splendor! in dreams I'm hearing their "Baas!"
What sense to sleep and count sheep? I'll simply peer at my tract!
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