Towards the end of attempts

A black baby sheep is sleeping in my arms
Chest melting, ground trembling
The grass is drowning in the cold tears
of a summer that never came

We drove five hours to get here
Now here we are three hundred
minutes more apart

Warmth from the wool is slowly
leaking through my ghost skin

I threw all the medicines away
They made no difference anyway

Our dream is sailing in a barren sea
Lamb no longer bleating in the back seat
It was never mine to keep