The sky
takes a cloud & shapes
it in to
spare ribs
and then again
into a five
(for all of five
minutes)
five barred gate
beyond which lie
the fields of Heaven.
Then the sky
busy as a buzzy bee
forms & unforms
a flock of fleecy sheep
each a bit fuzzier
than the last
that bleat & leap
over it.
I wondering what it will
next create
but I can't possibly guess
as I have fallen slowly slowly
into
sleep.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/counting-sheep-for-lyn/
