Thousands of sheep, soft-footed, black-nosed sheep-
one by one going up the hill and over the fence-one by
one four-footed pattering up and over-one by one wiggling
their stub tails as they take the short jump and go
over-one by one silently unless for the multitudinous
drumming of their hoofs as they move on and go over-
thousands and thousands of them in the grey haze of
evening just after sundown-one by one slanting in a
long line to pass over the hill-

I am the slow, long-legged Sleepyman and love-you/">I love you
sheep in Persia, California, Argentine, Australia, or
Spain-you are the thoughts that help me when I, the
Sleepyman, lay my hands on the eyelids of the children
of the world at eight o'clock every night-you thousands
and thousands of sheep in a procession of dusk making
an endless multitudinous drumming on the hills with
your hoofs.