Sole light in deep blue
In search of those familiar to it,
a sheep jumps from one barn to the next,
strayed away from the rest.
In hunger, and fear of death,
hind legs tugged, bruised;
from a cliff it'd fell.
With time, a heavier coat lathed its spine,
hooded its eyes,
it grew blind.
Lack of food called for extended rest.
It slept in fear,
like a blind man with a bounty on his head.
A few more months passed,
the sheep grew ripe of age.
Barely alive, hearing for the river,
grazing on what little shrubs
landed in its face.
It wished to regroup with its pack,
even if he'd known of another path.
It'd started to go along,
bringing the stones that touched its toes
to the riverside,
lining them along the edge,
making for what is a primitive animal's art.
In the documentation of it's fate,
it wished to be seen, by one of its kind,
if not for the pack.
"Maybe the day,
when stars in my favour align,
in absence of my conception of sight,
through deep woods, by the riverside,
you'll see me for what I was.
Remorse shall then
dawn upon your conscience,
for what little memory of mine you cared
to keep in thought.
A single call would've kept me with the pack,
I would've been sheared of my hair,
free from the blind that kept my eyes,
or the weight on my back.
The curse would be
my last acknowledgement of the pack."
The sheep would go to lay more stones,
making a riverbank of sorts.
And soon, in the coming years,
the legs would give up,
and a pack of wolves would groan.
The sheep would die.
Humans would discover the elaborate
riverbank that was laid.
For metres from the cliff to the next meander.
And the old pack, now owned by the tribe,
would walk by this stretch,
kicking some stones off place every few steps.