Crawling with Lambs

When I was a child, crawling was easy
in and out of the long wheat grasses,
hiding from mother till the tension passes –
with a Jumping Jack as up I’d pop
with grinning face and dishevelled mop.
Yet now it’s the turn of the young white lambs
in the farmer’s field where wheat’s still stands
and little white ears on a bobbing white ball
sticking up high where the skyline falls
on the wheat so green on the hillside trail
with never a sound from the farmers pail.
I bet if he knew these furry white blobs
were flattening his wheat he’d be up on his feet
and off to this hill with his Border called Bess
who’d navigate fun with lambs on the run……
Then perhaps when he left, I’d go down on my knees
and do my bit in the green wheaty leaves
and I’d hide away till time for tea…..
and feel I’d claimed back, a lost part of me.