in a field of docks rain falls on us
here are white hanks of sheepswool
pegged like washing
between drying posts
we breathe in lanolin and damp
by clouded reeds a tatty ewe
lurches away with her twins
her off-fore lame
her bag all lumpy with mastitis
you said it wouldn’t last
we follow
an orange tip butterfly over the stile
Gratefully received from Jean for our Big Lit 2020 Window Poems