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VERSE forgotten tales 2
The Song of the Wasted Sheep
And do I care?
Nor do I care!
Here I lie
A wreck of bones,
A wreck of life
Upon the rocks,
And do I care?
Nor do I care;
I fell too far
To spring away
As once I sprang
When I was young,
And do I care
Nor do I care;
I had a life
Among these hills,
They take my life
Back to themselves,
And do I care ,
Nor do I care;
I took my life
From day to day,
From weed to weed
And turf to turf,
Now do I care
Nor do I care;
One day I saw,
My head upraised,
A distant sea,
Then dropped my head
In search of sweetness
Not adventure,
In search of sure
Beneath my feet,
And do I care
Nor do I care;
I never wondered,
Head upraised,
To see the sky,
And if I wandered
Never saw
Beyond the rocks,
Beyond the turf
Beneath my feet,
Now do I care
Nor do I care;
But I did lamb
And had a care
One Springtime past,
Or was it twice?
Still, I did lamb
And had a care
To fill my time
Some Springtime past,
Now do I care
Nor do I care.
I once was shorn,
Or was it twice?
Or was it more?
Some Summer past,
And do I care
Nor do I care;
I once was cold,
Or was it more
That I was cold
Some Winter past?
And do I care
Nor do I care;
I once had fear,
Or was it twice?
Some Autumn past,
And care was lost,
Now do I care
Nor do I care;
Just once I fell
And broke three legs
And could not move
And suffered crows,
Yet do I care
Nor do I care;
Became a meal
Among these hills
To others who
Now lie here still,
And do I care
Nor do I care;
Yes: I was sheep
And now I'm none,
I lived a life
And now I'm gone,
And do I care
Nor do I care;
For I am bones
And wisp of wool,
A fern grows through my eye.
Burnham Beeches
There were four of us:
Him and him,
And you and me,
On a spree to escape the pack,
On a skive to prove distinction,
Cementing our unity.
Braving the threat:
Not knowing what was to come.
We paired, two
Preoccupied with the future,
And two who talked of this
And that, and nothing so
Crucial.
Two who played with
Songs and remembered joys:
You and me;
Almost a courting couple
We must have seemed;
And me desperate for your touch,
To hold your hand!
And you?
I never knew but guessed
That you were so inclined,
Erroneously as it turns out.
Is your memory the same as mine?
What was your sister told - she who giggled
At my excusive concern -
The day you had a bug:
The day I nearly expired for lack
Of your voice,
And the day I nearly told you.
Was this disaster averted?
Or postponed?
Or actually occurred?
Wilf Jones Poetry