Cows

The cow struts its stuff across the field

The udders hanging low to catch the eye

Of the people in the Peugeot passing by

They pass the fields in the car for hours and oh how,

They wish they could play with the gentle cows,

Gentle if treated right, but aggressive if not,

They’re not that simple, that’s not your lot,

Intelligent animals, so productive, giving out milk,

You stroke them softly, and consider it close to be silk

They grunt and sniffle, hardly see them smile,

But seeing them as you pass can make you happy for a while.

©2008 Mikey Green