I begin sheepishly,
feel with fingers
attempt to roo
your softness taut
in struggle. I soothe
with lullaby
you settle. In no time
at all the shear's song
reveals your baby skin
you free yourself
of me. Hoof it away. My fingers
lanolin soft with your memory.
[Published in The New Shetlander, Hairst issue, 2003]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem