the farms - plump cottage rolls
   biscuit walled,  oven blackened
   slate tapped  -
                sidle through
                the valleys
in search of seclusion

stone floored
    dumb - pretending - but tight
like farmer's unwethered grip
pulling the lamb and the land
into the fold

     pushing the hills
with the balls of the hand
rolling them
   and squeezing up
      stonewalls with the fingers