Dancing Dust
	Poems by Mollie Caird (1922-2000)
	The sheepfold
Home Alphabetic index of poems Thematic index of poems Biography Gallery Contact and links	The sheepfold on the hill is round and green, Dry-stone walled, a tidy lidless box, A smooth-turfed O, a bright and obvious landmark In wilderness of scree, bog, muddled rocks. In go the sheep, soft, jostled, pressurized By brain-washed shepherd-dog, he eager, tame, Besotted by duty and its small rewards. Warm, panicked woolly huddle: exactly same Exclamatory pupils in pale eyes glaze Slowly into calm. Nibble the short sweet grass. Not for me the sheepfold on the hill. I am off and away, crag-under, gulley-over, Zigzagging ghylls and shaly outcrops; better Ravined by wolf-pack then heel-nipped by Rover. Better the dreadful fall to crawling foam, Inverted world beyond the teetering edge, Black crows eyeing my eyes and a gale blowing Where I lie maimed on the impossible ledge. Not for me the dipping, shearing, marking, Bleating fleecy cuddle and synchronized gaze In the round-walled green short grass. Undated The Dancing Dust and other poems, 1983