The corona moon opens a watchful eye over the flock, huddled in familial groups, dotted across meadows. Blossom snows down from ice-cream cones. Snow-covered flesh snuggles into snow-covered flesh. Lanolin comforted lambs feed from tupped ewes, drained at the close of day - all marked with loyal blue. The straw -haired farmer shepherds them into pastures new, where the grass may be greener. Enclosed. Gambling on the immunity of his herd, sheepdogs nip their woolly advice. Lambs, excited by life at first whirligig and gambol. Chew, Chew, Chew. Then see the fence, see the stone wall, and wonder, can this be all? Their frisking arcs flatten out, riggweltered into submission, appreciating only gentle apricity. Lying lonely next to each other, raddled by rams into displays of faded rainbows - the whole world, one field. The Scarecrow finally returns, With his large, travelling pen. Bleat. Bleat. Bleat. Change is confused with excitement, And the flock follow him in - For nothing bad could ever happen in the sunshine. Suzanne Fairless-Aitken
