Spring embodies a time of birth.

Smells of country fresh air.

Mud puddles, remnants of winter’s snowy good-bye.

Waterproof trousers, a sheep farmer’s best friend.

Walking through new green fields mixed with swaths of heather purple.

Newborn lambs sleeping two by two in makeshift hay beds.

Loss of sleep and eating cold suppers, a springtime ritual.

Iodine and hand cream making your two hands a faded brown.

Ewes overwrought and lacking milk.

While their babies suckle from a bottle on a warm dirty lap.

Remember to shut the holding pen gate.

Or visions of white cotton balls will dot the landscape.

Raucous crying from these precious new friends is inevitable.

Silent tears, giggles and remembering nature’s wondrous site.

Gives you a sense of heaven, gazing over this pastoral landscape.

© Mary Anne Abdo

This is for all of the hard working sheep farmers during this season of lambing. I dedicate this poem to my cousin Eileen’s husband Loughlin who is an wonderful person working right now during the busiest season of their farm.

Thank you

Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – TWO