Roll’n down the mountain with a warm bowl in my lap
Generally I look left, at the field of cows and their lack
of progress.
Munch, crunch, mooo, mooo.
What are they up to?
They give birth there, walk, sleep,
little ones frolic
In their pasture, so bucolic
before being trucked off, their meat for sale
So really its just cow-jail.… Read the rest