Three Cattle Nonets
Bucolic
Buttercups blanketing Ben's pasture,
cows won't eat—they'd blister their lips.
And there aren't many calves.
Both bulls lame the same time.
When they fought last year,
it didn't seem
like they were
getting
hurt.
Don't Blink
Across the field outside my window,
a calf was born this afternoon.
Ron, back from fishing all day,
saw it take its first steps.
I had watched the cows
all morning long,
but had just
turned my
back.
Kentucky
Calves frolic, some, with their young mothers.
Others play in packs--freely, wild.
Seeing them brings breath to life,
recalling unchained bliss.
My heart runs with them--
leaps, bucks, sails, sings,
as we run
in the
grass.
No comments:
Post a Comment