The farmer's field is in our vision
A scene of sheep, nothing hidden.
I sip the coffee and am sad to know
this will be cut off when our trees all grow.
Commotion erupts in the slow-moving view,
emotion interrupts my morning brew:
The ram was set to ram
but the ewes were on refuse.
Some outran him, sought to ban him,
one couldn't lose him, instead bemused him
with go and start, bound then sit,
so up he'd hop but found no grip.
She appeared to be complicit, then become aloof,
he veered and bit, and hit by throwing a left hoof.
She wasn't flustered, just not sold.
A hundred others joined the fold,
she ran with them and used the cover,
left the ram to choose another.
She stayed well back and watched him choose
and then relaxed as willing ewes
stood still to mate, set and prone.
I just can't wait for the trees to grow.
(I saw this unfold before me this morning. I wish very much that I could unsee it!)
