PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It's five a.m.

and the sun has yet to wink

morning on the farm.

The crisp air, manure and long-grass

fill my lungs.



Gumboots and a flagging flashlight

I open the squeaky gate

and peer into the field.

The shadows lift their heads

and mumble their recognition



One by one I rouse them

checking their breathing and

the roundness of their stomachs.

Their skin stretched taunt

over the miracles within.

Waddling in discomfort

they head towards the feed troughs



"ShEE-E-E-EP!"

I call them.

"My darlings, it's time to eat!"

A quick count to check.

No, Dolly is missing

with her white face and pretty hooves.



When I find her she is grazing

among the trees.

Her afterbirth trailing by a cord

her sides heave with effort

wool damp with her labours.

She wouldn't stray far from them.



I can hear their breath like kisses

and I crouch to check the needled floor

beneath the cedar and pines.



Here, curled in a hollow tree

Sweet heads resting upon the other's shoulder.