Wool

By Philip Sidney
- 3349 reads
Lambs follow the others
from the meadow, with its sweet grass
and yellow flowers smiling back at the sun,
into the mountain folds, the secret places
that sheep from ancient times
remembered and passed on.
They do not slip on rough shale, but
place newly hardened cloven feet
with steady, firm footing, sure,
as they stand exultant
on sheer cliffs - the merest ledge,
that this world beneath its milky sky
holds no mystery, only quiet joy
in sedge and moss and thrift and berries,
in the nudge and nuzzle of companionship,
in the bleat and caw and echo
of the high grounds.
Faraway, in the town, tourists stroke
blankets made from Icelandic wool,
rough and soft in equal measure,
full of the colours of land and sky
and dreams of lambs half-sleeping
from another time.
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Comments
This is so beautiful and
This is so beautiful and melodic. People pass fields with sheep grazing so often they are barely given a second thought and yet here you have given them a pedestal on which to be admired. Lovely!
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You've captured the essence
You've captured the essence of these sheep grazing, the dangerous isolation that only creatures like these can exist in. It always amazes me how the lambs don't slip on the narrow ridges of cliff tops, but are able to follow in their mother's footsteps.
Much food for thought here and very much enjoyed reading.
Jenny.
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Loved the juxtaposition of
Loved the juxtaposition of the lambs in the wild and the tourists, with the wool as the link between ancient and modern. The way animals pass down their knowledge and wisdom is endlessly fascinating. Thank you for a great read.
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Beautifully written makes you
Beautifully written makes you reflect on nature....and our commercialism of it. Love watching the lambs in the fields, running and galloping like children.
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As soft and fuzzy as being
As soft and fuzzy as being wrapped up in wool and sang to. Your poetry appeals to all the senses. Some delicate images and lulling qualities to it, somehow.
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Seriously lovely. All that
Seriously lovely. All that scenic description and atmosphere brought back to earth with the rough and soft feel of the blankets which conjure up the scenes again in the imagination of those who touch the wool. Loved this.
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Hi Helen
Hi Helen
Another Iceland piece for your collection. I can't honestly remember seeing sheep when we were there. I thought the moss covered rocks looked like dead sheep - and hated those vast graveyards. But I have very fond memories of the sheep in New Zealand, who were given preference over the cows for the better pastures. It was the cows who struggled for food on the high slopes.
Jean
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My brother and I learnt how
My brother and I learnt how to play rugby from tackling the lambs for docking as nippers, of course the dogs had far more finese. I know the title and storyline is wool, but this excellent poem has also come close to describing the life of a couple of feral farmkids (as we were). Those 4 inch wide sheep tracks around the cliffs were equally worn by our bare feet... great read, thanks yet again.
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But we did Philip, and it
But we did Philip, and it gave us greater depth in whom we would ultimately become
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This is quite beautiful in
This is quite beautiful in its simplicity but then the best things are!
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