Herding Sheep, Late Afternoon

Walking, calling, clapping my hands,

compliance I command;

and they, as one, as though my body, obey.

Then, to the high terrace, Beauty comes to watch,

a blazing stand-in for the Tuscan sun.

The flock stops.

Walking, calling, clapping my hands,

compliance I command;

but they, as one, paralysed, stay.

And five hundred popping eyes

stare back at me, afraid.