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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.

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