I watched the sheep stumble from the mountain,
pushed from behind by the keen watching eyes
in their wizened caves, and pinned to the trod
by eager dogs, tongues hanging, tails wagging,
singing their sharp chorus within the shouts
of instruction. Surely they have no sense
of destination. Enough to have eyes
for the crippling rock and the stifling mud.
Do they see the mountain tops, the sheltered
dales and waters glittering in the sun?
They have no care for the erotic scents
of the spiced east, nor for the salt filled winds
blowing tales of adventure and treasure.
they are content for the unknown to stay
unknown. The land beneath them is enough.
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