Poetry

Wool Nights

Wool Nights (for Andrew Kennon)   A loose sheep in a paddock— possibly half the brain, definitely twice the legs as the cursing, chasing farmer— can be brought back to the main flock via an iron hook on a long thin pole, similar to a shepherd’s crook but more closed. Slipped on a hind leg of a flighty wether, feisty ram, poncing lamb the escapee is nicely tripped, tackled for the count, the crutching, castration, drench or shear. (lonely farmers have been known to hold a merino ewe unspeakably dear!).   I dagged and cast fleeces at a Raywood shed…

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