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