By the last rays of the winter sun
I seem to smell the signs of Spring.
Those ewes we'd bring
Into the shelter of this lofty barn:
Its back turned aganst the gales,
Clean straw beds among the bales.
Young lambs learn quick to stand,
To find the ewes that fuss around
And knock them off to stand again
On spindly legs like drunken men.
I remember all these happy things
And later saw them dance in rings.
Matt Mooney
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lambs-2/
