The cattle in their metal kennel
Gorge themselves on grain and fennel,
Glad the sunlight pouring down
Has tanned them to a handsome brown
To please the children on their trips
To see the fields and come to grips
With how and where their food is made.
(If you said “cows,” you’ve made the grade.)
After all the kidlings leave
The cows will crowd around and grieve
The friendships made and quickly lost
And later, when they’ve brushed and flossed
Their many rows of jagged teeth
And lathered pimple cream beneath
Their jowly cheeks and wattled throats,
They’ll stand and sleep and dream of goats.