I
A field, a fence, and countless sheep
await me as I try to sleep,
and while I toss and turn in bed,
the sheep look on in dread.
They know that soon their task will start,
that, one-by-one, they will depart;
and if they run and jump and miss
they'll land in the abyss.
For every sheep gets but one chance
to make my half-slept sleep advance,
and looming darkness waits for sheep
that do not look and leap.
And every sheep that does succeed
will from my sleepless mind be freed,
to graze forever in the sky,
while others bleat and cry.
II
I cannot sleep, toss to and fro,
and give the call for them to go;
they mill around in disarray;
some seem to want to stray.
At last one runs uncertainly;
it nears the fence, wants to be free;
it flings its body in the air
and makes it by a hair.
The next in trepidation runs,
is unsure too, sticks to its guns
and weeps while flying in the night,
but does its job just right.
And then a sheep - a black one, yes -
because of fear and severe stress,
trips and then crashes in the fence;
the air grows grim and tense.
III
I, who was half-asleep by then,
carry the sheep back to its pen,
return it gently to its bed
and softly stroke its head.
And all the sheep look up and gasp,
now they're no longer in the grasp
of terrifying grief and fear;
some even raise a cheer.
In droves they come to make their jump,
and in my throat I feel a lump,
for look how happy sheep can be:
they'll even leap for me.
And as they fly across the fence,
no longer weeping in suspense,
I slowly feel resistance yield
and join them in their field.