Thursday 23 June 2016

Christina Rossetti: Clouds


White sheep, white sheep,
On a blue hill,
When the wind stops,
You all stand still.
When the wind blows,
You walk away slow.
White sheep, white sheep,
Where do you go? 



Echoed in the Plath poem ("Sheep in Fog") I posted earlier; in fact the resonances are strong enough to be more than coincidence.


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