Meanwhile, Melody Muses…

Wet behind the ears, gentle

as a lamb – innocence wrapped

in silver paper, tied with

remembering string knotted

on ancient knuckles.  He may

not know their names any more

(Time has seen to that), but he

could tell them just when to cut

the wheat, where to find the best

Saskatoon bushes – bent like

beasts of burden beneath their

berry up-dos – how to get

the last  drop of sweet milk from

that skittish cow. His silver

mane beads with the effort at

recollection; memory,

ephemeral wisp, drips off

like sweat on yesterday’s dust.

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This is a leaf from a ‘Lamb’s Ear’ plant…