Poem 143 – The Ovine Ovations

The fields roll while the sun rides high,
And the sheep gambol and play,
Their gentle bleating beneath the blue sky
A sweet and relaxing lay.

Even as the sun goes down
And twilight fills heaven’s vault,
The lambs, atop the hill’s bright crown,
With gentle bleating the silence assault.


Dear readers,

Firstly, allow me to apologise for this late post. Alas, I have been busier than expected these past few days. If it’s any comfort, it means that there will be two poems today.

Secondly, it should be mentioned that in the UK, a late (or, indeed, absent) spring has meant that lambing has continued far later into the year than usual, allowing me to write a poem about lambs in late June.

Kind regards,

The Hapless Neo-Romantic


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