The Shaping of Sheep

Bustles, scuffles, bleats, and shuffles — sheep
come milling down the hill to the shearing-pen.
Men whistle-call commands and collies sweep
the straggled throng for strays when, down the glen,
a ram goes rocketing off. The sheepdogs trim
their courses, fly the heath to bar his way,
and, sickling round, they crouch and cordon him;
a rock wall hems him in — he stands at bay.

By degrees the dogs steal closer, ganged, sharp-witted,
scary as any barrier on the planet;
he wheels and charges, head-down and committed.
Crack! He shudders, drops, at the coup de granite.

The nonconformist lies there, slumped in state,
as sheep file past him, through the waiting gate.

© John Beaton