Where the Lambs Grow

Just a poem i wrote.

Where the Lambs Grow

There is a field where the lambs grow
In the grass and under the moon.
In the field on a hill is a wolf by a tree.
He watches the lambs and waits.

We live in our home with doors and windows
Where the gate is forever unlocked because
We lost the key the winter it never snowed.

During that winter, it was a bitter Saturday,
Father discovered a snake in our garden
Buried under the leaves. I remember
Because the day after, it was a Sunday,
That was the day father passed away.

The night he died, I took a walk.
It was cold, so I could see my breath.
Walking away from the street-lights
Into a field, I watched my shadow grow taller
Till it finally disappeared like coal dropped in tar.
I tried to find it in the field, but it was too dark.
The lambs were there, however, and I sat with them,
Dripping tar; and our shadows trembled together.