ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

MIDNIGHT THE QUEEN OF DARKNESS


Midnight came quiet through valleys filled with woolies
and scattered them far and wide where she did go.
A life spent with darkness, is so sad and lonely
though some stuck close by her- and empathy showed.
It’s hard to be different when all those around you
are garbed in soft fleeces – celestial white.
Yet though all the same there are some cannot see that
it’s only a colour – a skin black as night.

Unwanted by many. When tiny and helpless
and new to the world you were fast thrown away,
by one who well knew all the lines of your breeding
but good as they were they would not his heart sway.
Destined for a bullet, he thought your life worthless.
Inured to entreaties and soft ovine eyes.
Till rescued and taken to where you were valued
though the taker the previous owner despised.

But you were a gift, you were so very special
and black wool by spinners is often quite prized,
and yours was the finest and longest and softest
a fleece to be proud of – that was no surprise.
You were always the last in the shed when ‘twas shearing
and a white sheet was draped on the boards worn and stained.
Every lock, dag and wig was rolled up with your soft fleece
and removed from the shed, not a skerrick remained.

And over the course of your lifetime at ‘Springdale’
you gave birth to five lambs each one snowy white
which you bought down to show us, before disappearing
to your secret hideouts where you slept at night.
Each small lamb was perfect, each fitted the mould
of a fine wool Merino – with Merryville genes,
but you hid them away so you wouldn’t be lonely
for your colour caused others to shun you it seems.

And no Mother was better – you had a good teacher
for your own Mother Girlie was a sweet loving ewe.
Who kept you at her side for well over two years,
always kept you shaded, ‘twas as if she knew.
That your black wool attracted the heat from the sun
unlike white which deflected the hot sunny rays.
But black sheep are different, quite unlike the others
and sadly I watched you, solitary graze.

And all appear different, though all are the same
All living because a heart’s beating inside.
The colours and species are quite individual
‘tis land mass and waters of Earth that divide.
Or it should be but sadly that’s not always true
for we fight over land, over race and religion
The skin tones of others are Gods great design
to suit the location – not cause mans division.

And if there’s a moral to this story of sheep
it’s one that is honest – a truth we might bare.
We come into the world as small sweet innocents
and at death there is only the shell of us there.
But we leave behind in the memories of others
a thought, or a deed or a love we have shared.
A word we have written a song we have sung.
A brief interlude that’s touched someone who cared.

Maureen Clifford © 04/11

Not the best quality photo but here is Midnight and Girlie. I think they are both beautiful

Terrific poem Maureen and loved:
"We come into the world as small sweet innocents
and at death there is only the shell of us there.
But we leave behind in the memories of others
a thought, or a deed or a love we have shared.
A word we have written a song we have sung.
A brief interlude that’s touched someone who cared."

Vic Jefferies

Thank you Vic - that has made me happy

Hey Marty - It’s splendidly healthy, with half the fat of beef and ten times the chloresterol busting Omega 3s. It’s said to taste similar to beef, our national dish. The flavour is stronger than beef too, with an insistent sweetness and tang. Like lamb, another distinctively flavoured meat, it goes well with punchy flavoured herbs, such as rosemary, sage and juniper.

But it's not either of these.

It’s free from bird flu, mad cow disease, tuberculosis, foot-and-mouth and tape worm, the scourge of our traditional meat industry. And apparently Gordon Ramsey wants us to eat it.

No not for one minute would I consider eating it - but the French do. What makes beef and lamb an acceptable dinner, while horsemeat’s taboo?

morning Maureen,

Lovely little lambies. While I understand the problem with coloured wool, surely every colour has it's use. As you have said in the poem, those who value the natural fibre for their craft, be it weaving of spinning, look out for the coloured fleeces.

I have tried eating kangaroo. I found goat OK. The old 'killers' you get from the farm in the bush can be a bit dank but my favourite meat is veal. It is amusing (to me anyway) how some people look down their nose at the food choices of others. In the open market in Shanghi they sell live toads (or they might have been large frogs) for human consumption.
We also saw, in a supermarket, people buying live fish. They were jumping round in the plastic bag at the checkout. Many of the poorer people don't have refrigeration but as they buy the food and eat it the same day, they don't need it.

Lovely sentiment in your poem. We 'plain' creatures have to protect ourselves somehow.

Now in regards to coloured sheep fleeces there is one very strong draw back in wool dyeing in the form of when wool is dyed prior to it is all of one colour. Eg when scoured it is white now if black wool contaminates coloured fleeces when dying the coloured fibres dye in to different shades due to their base colour, creating a problem of continuity of colour in the fabric especially in light colours. There is no difference in the quality of the wool just the problem of dying it

bill the old battler

That's why she was headed for a bullet - no not actually that, rather a club over the head and destined for dogs meat and ditto Girlie because she carried a black gene.

Black wool wont dye Bill as you say and woe betide if the grab test finds the slightest skerrick of coloured wool or even God forbid black dog hair in your bale....that bale that was worth $1000+ would be downgraded to a fraction of that.

Damara and Dorper sheep were frowned upon for their colour and their 'self shearing properties' for fear that their wool might weave in with the merinos fleece were they to meet for a chat at the fence line. and that's why poor little Midnight was shorn last after all the 'white' wool had been sorted and baled and I bought her fleeces back with me and had them spun, at huge expense for a sentimental gesture.

She was completely ostracized sadly by the other sheep except for two old wethers, Bones and Hornless and of course her Mum. She ran with Girlie until she was two years old and had her first lamb and then continued her solitary life 'somewhere' out on the property. She came in for corn most days, and bought the lambs down to show us but never let us get to close to them. She was a bugger to muster because she wasn't scared of the dogs as she knew them all, and she played up in the shed as well..Pet lambs tend to be a bit like that...it was all my fault. Her mother Girlie followed me everywhere and always came when she was called and was a most amenable and helpful ewe. Midnight was a little black devil from day one, would never stand to be cuddled or petted - always fiercely independent.