In the beginning were her men

- and ewe ticks.

All was green and fertile

and cliched lambent light.

Then the squabbling began.

Over who’s who

when you do

too much second guessing.

And over who bleated

how long it would be

before the yew in the yard

shed its leaves.

And over who rammed into whom

when the nervous tics began.

And how contractions and stuttering

were not what was meant

in field day manoeuvres

that took nine months

to gambol towards

their inevitable

woolly conclusion.