Rumble of thunder. Scared sheep run
and spread along the bright new fence.
They nudge it, trying to make sense
of a landscape suddenly undone
by careful links and clattering men.
Ewes turn to face their lambs, and bleat.
The lambs bleat back. Ewes bleat again
then smell the grass beneath their feet,
forget the fence and start to graze.
In the big house, men write menus,
budget their words, mark out their days.
The new fence does not change their views.
They cannot see where they sit, concealed
from panicky flocks in the fattening field.
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