Multiplication
Trying to fall asleep in Spring,
I found the trick of counting sheep,
Grazing in flocks and wandering,
Could not succeed in bringing sleep,
Following one another too,
Bleating meanwhile, and eyeing me,
They sauntered by, as all sheep do:
I watched them, counting patiently.
In Spring’s lush pastures so sublime,
It seemed that every flock would grow,
Filling the fields at lambing time,
In numbers more than I could know,
No rest would come, no pillowed bliss:
I saw there was no end to this.
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