Blown In, Cyclone Rim

25 Feb


Blown in.

The County plows the road just far enough.

Ewes, lambs within,
stand with wooly backs to the wind,
withstanding the snow and blow.
We can get in behind the plows
with corn and hay, every few days.

Brave men, up from Peru,
Struggle through the snow
and spread the feed, while we venture
along roads, slick with ice, no visibility,
bringing food, wood, water, feed.

Antelope mill in ever larger herds,
hanging along the roads,
grass covered by endless drifts.
Winter, relentless in exacting its toll.
I hope they stay off the railroad tracks.

The BLM says move the sheep,
too many days along that plowed road,
huddled among the hard-drifted snowbanks.



sorting the bucks

Guard dogs sleeping

1 Comment

Posted by on February 25, 2019 in Animals, Poetry, Sheep


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One response to “Blown In, Cyclone Rim

  1. Martha Kennedy

    February 26, 2019 at 9:41 AM

    I love the photo of your dogs sleeping. Also, the poem. We’re having cold but no more snow, it seems. The calves are coming thick and fast, but I have seen no sheep at all for months. Maybe I’m just not looking in the right place.


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