(poem) Böotes
(This poem is part of the Night Sky anthology - a project where I write poems titled after the 88 IAU constellations. This poem was probably written on 3rd December 2020.)
The wind waltzes in,
with a spray of dew,
A cloud nibbles the hilltop,
where I sit, on a folding chair,
I put the soda to my lips,
a little too cold than I would like,
I draw my jacket closer,
and keep the bottle to the side,
In the distance, a pinprick of white,
grows in size; all flowing fur,
New recruit, stepping slowly,
with a mouth all shut,
And the sheep follow him,
creatures born of broken clouds,
This time, a hundred heads less,
missing a four hundred feet,
He sits beside me, a lump,
Frank "Spark" Wilson, they call him,
We see the sheep being led,
to safety that the others didn't have,
We see the wind comb the grass,
in all different directions,
We see as the sun sets,
and we think about the ones we lost.
(The constellation Böotes is described as a herdsman.)