THE SHEEP OF HOLLAND
Sheep soft on the soft wet grass
between our house and the old windmill
Sheep running in the distance
a long row of cotton candy
pulled by invisible string
March lambs gambolling
on the sides and tops of dikes
The black cloud of hoof and mouth
gathering over England
strikes as we leave
Watching the news in Atlanta
my farmer fear pulls me back
Memory revises
I stand in the bare fields
look at the bare dikes
Taste the burning wool