I watch them dawn and dusk
from high above
High above the mountains
As they return in a herd
Through A colorful path down below
One after the other,
The other and another
from their pastures
Pastures which are fenced into meadows
Meadows fenced into zones
Zone, A hole for each of them
Where each grazes through the day
Growing wool day after day
Only to be sheathed later
By the farmer.
And repositioned again
Perhaps to a different zone, a meadow or a pasture
To graze again
To grow wool again
through the day
To travel from pen to pasture
Pasture to pen
Day after day
and turn grey
Dear Mom,
life is indeed the same
Between our village mountains and these city scrappers
Mom, I still enjoy
Watching from up above
The colourful path down below
Except that the Sheep
Are Humans just like me!
