Miranda

A Poem by Edwina Smith

It is a pretty spot
That one may well admire
But this land holds memories
Of harsh drought and fire

The farm is cradled on all sides
By rolling gentle hills, others very steep
A home for many generations
The ideal place for sheep

Miranda has been hard at work
Her project takes a year
Growing a fleece of wool
And now it’s time to shear

Perhaps a little precious
Not fond of being shorn
But best to be done
Before her lamb is born

Many years past spent
In perfection of her line
And today she is known
As Merino Superfine

Time to get a start
According to the clock
She waits in the holding pen
With the others of her flock

And so the day begins
Nothing more is said
The combs come alive
In the three stand shearing shed

A well rehearsed band
With their trusted roustabout
They’ll have this lot done
Before the day is out

Then it’s Miranda’s turn
She’s plucked from the fold
Manoeuvre swift but kind
Calmed by the expert hold

The shearer knows the trade
And shorn all across the land
Miranda need not fret
There’s not a better hand

The shears begin their magic
Belly, back legs, down and around
Taking extra special care
Where Miranda’s teats are found

Her topknot was a dainty feature
Then chest and neck are clear
With the skill of a surgeon
Around her eye and her ear

Now the pace quickens
Moves becoming bolder
Shears glide and take the fleece
Away from Miranda’s shoulder

Then come the long blows
Shearer’s got the knack
The fleece is giving way
As the handpiece sweeps her back

Next the other side
Strength completes the job
Miranda’s out the shoot
And rejoins her mob

To look in a mirror
She could run a mile
But she’s very much in fashion
All the ewes have her style

Miranda will return to graze
And grow next year’s clip
Today’s fleece will make its way
To foreign lands by ship

And as early Springtime comes
Marked by longer days
She awaits her next important role
A newborn lamb to raise