DEAD SHEEP POEM
This morning we saw sheepskin rugs
Outside the craft shop in the village.
Now we've found one on the hillside,
Soft and creamy-white among the thistles,
Cushioning a rib-cage and a line
Of vertebrae, laid out like stepping-stones.
Nine feet away, the skull
And jawbone, clean as carved ivory.
Crows and maggots cleared off long ago -
The person with the notebook has arrived.
(Photograph omitted)Reuse content