[from Muddy Prints, Water Shine]
Bovine
Ireland is green
and patterned with cows —
milk and beef,
handled and brindled.
Behind the cows
stand churners,
bottlers, stunners,
butchers, chefs.
I admire, I adore the cows.
A lady from Wisconsin complains,
"Why does she keep on saying cow?
She’s not a child."
-> next
As a poet, and an avid reader, I have to say that I very much enjoyed my leisurely stroll through your blog...it was time well spent; entertaining and enlightening. I invite you to visit my own, should you care to.
ReplyDeleteah, made yours and yours alone.
ReplyDeletewonderful poem