He Maketh me to Lie Down in Green Pastures ...
Some thing is sheep-dogging me.
It drives me over the field of my desires Crouching patch-eyed at the boundary, A swift snarl plugging each gap in the wires. Every circle I make toward the outer sky After the worn ground, is nipped back In a belly-streak, determined I shall die Of circumscription; not for any lack Of tears for what I might be, me and my brethren - We have huddled askance and shot star-like apart To confuse and out-flank our enemy; but whether in Sheer stupidity or lack of heart We fail, and are whipped in by a whistle, who knows. We stare silly at the same trough and the same tree In the same chewed patch where nothing new grows, Consoling ourselves with familiarity. We know the way so well. We have, amid usual mayhem, Rutted here, hating our poor fellows; The hound’s eye rolls reflected in each of them. Our only heaven is one clump of willows Under an April rainbow - as I mate In the dog-watch the unsuspected eye Snapping each vain attempt to procreate A vision of free hills and a different sky ... I would stand outside the fence, you see. I would lean there, Once out, not escape. I would not like to strand My old company, but show them the fresh air And all the patterns vanishing from my hand. |