Spanish Cargo
- lesalexa
- Dec 18, 2017
- 1 min read
Hup, hup, hyah!
Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Bells tinkle faintly
before they appear in the mist
pouring over the crags and rocks
answering as they run.
Come, Bobby, watch the stragglers.
Bring the bellwether up to me.
We can stay no longer here,
moving on and on and on beyond
to pasture, shears or slaughter.
Mob up, you wooly nomads.
Into the fold you go.
I’ll care for the wounded,
pen the springers,
crook the culls and rams.
The great dog sleeps among you
and I my watch will keep.
I’ll play my flute for family so very far away
and soothe the little bottle lambs inside my caravan.
Tomorrow I will count you all,
tie poddys to their brothers,
and trail my Spanish cargo
down the ancient drovers’ road.
Sybilla July 16, 2014
Created for HerdBeast by Aimee Leon