Bedrock Poem by Mark Heathcote

Sheep sit grazing amongst mountain boulders
they are like well-worn sarsen stones
bent against the wind; leaning to crop, inward.
Watching for a shepherd who never cobblestones
a path on either side of going forward or back
he is just the mountain, the sky all around.

Like a pasture, He's the bedrock all have lay on
which is why they are somewhat content-to-sit-like
steppingstones and marvel—baa - baa baaing.
counting all those distant stars
till all but one has vanished under a blanket of snow,
that melts before finally letting go.