Share this poet:
Enter the verification code :
'Sheep' by W H Davies, submitted by George Sullivan 12 Nov 13
WHEN I was once in Baltimore,
A man came up to me and cried,
“Come, I have eighteen hundred sheep,
And we will sail on Tuesday’s tide.
“If you will sail with me, young man,
I’ll pay you fifty shillings down;
These eighteen hundred sheep I take
From Baltimore to Glasgow town.”
He paid me fifty shillings down,
I sailed with eighteen hundred sheep;
We soon had cleared the harbour’s mouth,
We soon were in the salt sea deep.
The first night we were out at sea
Those sheep were quiet in their mind;
The second night they cried with fear —
They smelt no pastures in the wind,
They sniffed, poor things, for their green fields,
They cried so loud I could not sleep:
For fifty thousand shillings down
I would not sail again with sheep.
The man could see a century into the future. What a pitch perfect description of the Obama economic plan: Poor men need not go up so much as rich men should come down. Shared misery. Amen.
Can the poem 'Sheep' by W H Davies be published on this site?
I hear leaves drinking rain; I hear rich leaves on top Giving the poor beneath Drop after drop; 'Tis a sweet noise to hear These green leaves drinking near.And when the Sun comes out, After this Rain shall stop,