My Poetry: Ode to the Cow

This was written when we lived in Duckwater, and attended a cattle round-up

Ode to the Cow

Planted they seem like a well rooted tree,
Slowly trudging, if moving at all
I spied the cow on the road in front of me.

A toot of the horn, cow doesn't respond
So I creep around--not knowing
if the cow will jump in front of me, or be gone.

On the road there are always cows.
Slow moving beasts of life
lying in wait, sometimes to dent our cars.

And that same creature, pushed and herded
to the cattleman provides sustenance
and on the road just turded

And the slow beast has it a brain?
Or is it just a factory
for spawning steer calves, preferably lean.

For the cow is the mother of hundreds
of steaks, burgers and stews
And of barbeques more than a few.

And the bawling calf and the bawling cow
Yearly fill the valley's air
The cow mourning, torn in half

She searches, she sniffs the night air
Her precious must be close by,
If she could find him, but where?