by Lorna Goodison
Clear the stile set in the dry stonewall then
set out across fields to where St Bega beckons.
You’ll step past drowsing dams who suckle
newborns beneath shade trees.
You have never seen so many lambs fattening
on creamy ewe milk. Sweet faced they are, these
ideal baby sheep, all soot-cheeks and shine eyes
set to head side.