Robert Francis (August 12, 1901 - July 13, 1987 / Pennsylvania / United States)
From where I stand the sheep stand still
As stones against the stony hill.
The stones are gray
And so are they.
And both are weatherworn and round,
Leading the eye back to the ground.
Two mingled flocks -
The sheep, the rocks.
And still no sheep stirs from its place
Or lifts its Babylonian face.
Comments about this poem (Sheep by Robert Francis )
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