Little Lamb

A premature lamb has died on our sheep farm. Every birth and death is a lesson, a story which adds to our life.

Little Lamb

Little lamb, born too soon,

Too early slipped the womb.

Like Wordsworth’s child, trailing clouds of glory …,

Heaven lies about you in your infancy.

You, transparent pink, too helpless for the cool of this world.

Your big silver brother, burning as Blake’s tiger.

Took the whole of your mother, proud ewe.

I take you to my breast to feed you, blow life into

Your soul.

I put you on my pillow, warming in my cap.

We sleep.

I awake in the morning to your cold prematurity.

You returned home,

Gone without a sigh, a tear.

But for mine.

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