Saturday, 24 March 2012

A week to die

A week to die



There were big deep baas
Like an old smoker
From the far end of the shed
Corrugated sheeting resounding
She got propped up on a bale
The back legs would scramble a little
Balance then sag
Move her out of the warm skitter
Onto clean straw
With offerings of ewe nuts and hay
Vitamin injections and water
She sat like a foundered ship
Slowly leaking

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