Classic Poem

The business of the lambing ewes would make me
At times a trifle sick. The strain and quiver
Of life just squeezed past death to stand and shiver
Wet in the cold on wobbly legs would shake me
With pity for these accidents of lust,
Sometimes with mere disgust.

But I would watch the wedge-tailed eagle wheeling
In skies as biting blue as ocean spaces,
Great wing above the messy commonplaces
Of birth and death and the weak sprawl of feeling;
And coolly then would flow through heart and brain
Respect for life again.