The Moonsheep

The moonsheep stands upon the clearing.
He waits and waits to get his shearing.
           The moonsheep.

The moonsheep plucks himself a blade
returning to his alpine glade.
           The moonsheep.

The moonsheep murmurs in his dream:
'I am the cosmos' gloomy scheme.'
           The moonsheep.

The moonsheep, in the morn, lies dead.
His flesh is white, the sun is red.
           The moonsheep.


- Christian Morgenstern