Learning Latin in Old Age

I feel so foolish sitting translating Vergil,
the voices of ancient imaginary shepherds,
in a silent house in Georgia, listening
for that human sweetness but afraid,
gathering griefs, my flock of goats
dry-uddered and with evil eyes, around me,
seeking the word that will turn them to eagles
or dry leaves to fly off, begone, the word
not even Vergil knew, who died with his work unfinished.