COWS

John Gorka



The cows in the moo yard;

Are making their plans;

For the long winter nights;

And the cold winter hands.



Some out in the fields;

Are covered with snow;

The black ones are white;

And the white ones don't show.



Big lumps in the sunset;

Between bovine dreams;

Their icicled udders;

Are waiting for spring.



And up from the road;

Comes the sound of the wheel;

Just an old ice cream wagon;

Say, "I know how you feel."



Some dream of India;

Where their cousins are stars;

But they don't like the crowds;

So they stay where they are;



And some dream of Florida;

Roaming the beach;

With metal detectors;

For gold they can reach.



Well, what can you do?

It's the ice or the flies;

The temperature's slowing;

The tails going by.



It's a dairy existence;

And I must conclude;

Cold milk in a bottle;

Still beats frozen food.



@animal

filename[ COWSYARD

JK

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