Today the sheep were outside the barn,
scraggly and in need of sheering.
Inside my car, I cheered. Always
I look for them, their appearance
a sure sign of Spring. But the pasture
was empty the last few times I passed.
Maybe it was the endless cold and rain.
Maybe the old man had sold them, given up.
That time, I suppose, will come. But not today.
Today the sheep are outside the barn,
gazing on spring’s green hill.