Lambing Time
Between
a waxing, butter moon
And
a faintly piping dawn
the ewe
bore
one lamb
near
the green equinox,
her birth bellows
ringing
down the hollar.
I helped a little,
my steaming hands
soaked
in amniotics
as I guided
the big-shouldered
ram lamb
out,
with gentle tugs
to the tempo of
the ewe's
and the moon's
contractions,
the lamb
announcing:
Alive, alive, O!