I’ve never kept flocks, but it’s like I’ve kept them. My soul is like a shepherd, It knows the wind and the sun, it walks hand in hand with the seasons, Following and seeing. All the peace of Nature without people comes and sits at my side. But I get sad, as the sunset is in our imagination, when it gets cold down in the plain and you feel night coming in like a butterfly through the window. But my sadness is quiet because it’s natural and it’s just what should be in my soul when it already thinks it exists And my hands pick flowers but my soul doesn’t know it.
Like the sound of cowbells beyond the curve of the road, All my thoughts are peaceful. I’m just sorry about knowing they’re peaceful, because if I didn’t know it, Instead of them being peaceful and sad, they’d be happy and peaceful. Thinking makes you uncomfortable like walking in the rain When the wind gets stronger and it seems to rain more.
I don’t have ambitions or desires. Being a poetess isn’t my ambition, It’s my way of being alone. And sometimes if I want to imagine I’m a lamb (Or a whole flock spreading out all over the hillside So I can be a lot of happy things at the same time), It’s only because I feel what I write at sunset, Or when a cloud passes its hand over the light And silence runs over the grass outside. When I sit and write poems or, walk along the roads or pathways, I write poems on the paper in my thoughts, I feel a staff in my hand and see my silhouette On top of a knoll, looking after my flock and seeing my ideas, or looking after my ideas and seeing my flock, with a silly smile like someone who doesn’t understand what somebody’s saying But tries to pretend they do.
I greet everyone who reads me, I tip my wide hat to them When they see me at my door Just as the stagecoach comes to the top of my hill. I greet them and wish them sunshine, Or rain, when rain is needed, and that their houses have a favorite chair Where they sit reading my poems by an open window. And when they read my poems, I hope they think I’m something natural - an ancient tree, for instance, Where they sat down with a thump In the shade when they were kids Tired from playing, and wiped the sweat From their hot brows with the sleeve of their striped cotton smock.