Painting by Bev Jackson
Blue-eyed grass sees
fog stretch, yawn and leave
soggy footprints at dawn. Dew
tickles her petals as she reaches
to glimpse spring sheep waking
beyond the fence. Viewing
the bulging ewes, she is lulled
by ovine eyes, drifting as they
chew in an easy adagio—
smooth as marble, predictable
as Bach. Their days, though,
will soon capsize, overwhelmed
by birth spasms, lambs demanding
milk—a seasonal dissonance
composed to resolve into bucolic
summer frolics and fleece-lined
snuggles before her bloom's
final cadence.
