Sheep

HUDDLED, rain-drenched, forlorn they stood,

Their fleeces blown one way;

The wet wind cried in solitude

About the failing day.

Leaves whirled below, aloft; the sky

Sagged like a sodden shroud;

No stir of life, no pleading cry,

Came from the draggled crowd.

Sudden the western portals wide

Opened on that gaunt fold;

Then lo, a flock beautified

With fleeces dripping gold!

C. Kennett Burrow