The Muster

On high and distant sheep lawns pale runlets wake the sun
Leaving tracery in the dew fall, the great muster has begun
Meandering down sheep tracks midst heather, spar and gorse
Headwaters of the round up, here the campaign gathers force

Eager collies all on high alert, this is how they earn their keep
Strong dogs are worth a dozen men herding mountain sheep
Bred swift and keen and tireless, with a will of tempered steel
Whilst laggards sense their urging, the quitters test their zeal.

Old Jess as sloped off by herself, then hark, an anxious bleat
She’s flushing out that hidden gill where a drover needs four feet
Strays rousted out of peat hags, groups harried from the dells
Shepherds have to know the ground when sweeping on the Fells

Wandering white lines thicken where several streams combined
The net is still stretched wide and tight so none are left behind
At a beck some ewes are baulking at the torrent and the spray
Yet all leap in and follow when the leader shows the way

There is shuffling and bleating wafting on the mid day haze
As the fleecy, living river comes flowing down the braes
Cascading down the valley wall, an awesome milk white flood
An undulating avalanche of wool and flesh and blood

Funnelling through the pinch points see eddies twist and swirl
Like shifting Paisley Patterns which form then blend and furl
It breaks upon an outcrop as a wave breaks on the shore
Then eases back together to come rolling down once more

David Kelly