Beyond the fence she hesitates,
And drops a paw, and tries the dust.
It is a clearing—but she waits
No longer minute than she must.
Though a dozen foes may dart
From out the grass, she crouches by;
Then runs to where the silos start
To heave their shadows far and high.
Here she folds herself and sleeps;
But in a moment she has put
The dream aside; and now she creeps
Across the open, foot by foot,
Till at the threshold of a shed
She smells the water and the corn
Where a sow is on her bed
And little pigs are being born.
Silently she leaps, and walks
All night upon a narrow rafter;
Whence at intervals she talks
Wise to them she watches after.
This poem is in the public domain.