Sheep Poem by Ayn Timmerman
Sheep
Bone weary lie a while, still
counting sheep in the ceiling tiles,
monotonous, long-faced bleaters,
legs flailing over a cobbled fence
that separates fact from fiction
and falls flat at the barest
nick of a hoof, so they mingle
and no distinction can be made.
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4/30/2024 6:03:44 PM # 1.0.0.1119
