Babes in the wood

Hoping to gain some respite from the bitter wind and hurling hail I ducked into the trees and was surprised to find a ewe peeping out of a brambly covert - even more amazed to see she had twin lambs at foot, only a day or two old. No sign of the rest of the flock: I suspect she knew her time was near and had retreated to the privacy and shelter of this secluded spot. Some sheep seem to display this sort of resourcefulness as if they retain ancient instincts for concealment at vulnerable times. I hope all three of them will be safe.


This poem of Philip Larkin's is unusually upbeat, as if even his cynical old heart could be stirred by lambs yet to experience the pleasure of spring.

First sight

Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.