Snow Pasture

Snow Pasture, Catton

Snow Pasture, Catton

Snow Pasture

Between the hawthorns, winding
grey and white along the high
path in the snow,
the sheep go
clipping, plucking, at the grasses
underneath, their serious
mouths insisting, scouring, finding
herbs and clovers, plants that lie
close to the ground. At times they lift
tranquil faces, those incurious
shields, sable against the drift
they tiptoe through, and then
they shake their coats, set off again;
so winter passes.

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