Poem # 27

Sheep

The voice of the sheep

bleet bleet bleet

a bleeting that never ends;

they bleet and they bleet

and not one of the sheep

knows they bleet into empty wind.

They work and toil and till their soil

yet heartache's all they reap

they know inside they choose to hide

and eat and drink then Sleep

And in the end they suffer still

going gently into the night

their hopes their dreams all come unseamed

and fail with dusk's last light

And still they bleet

the foolish sheep

know not the bitter end

they bleet and they bleet

the silly sheep

a bleeting into the wind.

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He said, "Why should I tarry?"

And smiled with tranquil eye;

"In destinies sad or merry,

True men can but try."

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

(Lines 562-565)