Joan has two lambs rejected by the ewe:
she’s soft with them. Come in from the garden
the piglets have turned over and manured
the usual way, they lie together
cwtched by the fire blinking amber eyes.  
All the animals feel at home with her:
chickens, geese, ducks, imperious peacocks
rattling their crazy expenditure of
purple light before unimpressed peahens,
the horse, the brace of hounds on holiday,
two cats, the pensioned guard dog needing love,
and getting it of course, in edenic
harmony. It’s the lambs that take me back
to the old house and its garden -- neat rows
of coming lettuces, beans setting out
to climb crossed sticks, a hopeful rose or two,
...