Sonnet To A Cow

To thee I sing a song, O, gentle cow,

     Standing beneath the chestnut’s spreading bough

     And chewing of thy cud, while on thy brow

Contentment lies. So meek thine eyes I trow

Though couldst be naught but gentle anyhow.

What tho’ thy horns are full of hooks, and now

     And then thy feet go up and out, and plough

     Furrows thro’ space? Right here we must allow

Thou art a good and useful thing O, cow!

Butter of gold, and snow-white milk, I vow

To thee, old milky way, we all must bow;

     Thy cream de luxe in morning coffee, wow!

     Methinks that I can taste it even now

O cow, good cow, old cowy-cow, cow cow.

Dec. 7, ‘04