Cows John Gorka The cows in the moo yard; Are making their plans; For the long winter nights; And the cold winter hands. Some out in the fields; Are covered with snow; The black ones are white; And the white ones don't show. Big lumps in the sunset; Between bovine dreams; Their icicled udders; Are waiting for spring. And up from the road; Comes the sound of the wheel; Just an old ice cream wagon; Say, "I know how you feel." Some dream of India; Where their cousins are stars; But they don't like the crowds; So they stay where they are; And some dream of Florida; Roaming the beach; With metal detectors; For gold they can reach. Well, what can you do? It's the ice or the flies; The temperature's slowing; The tails going by. It's a dairy existence; And I must conclude; Cold milk in a bottle; Still beats frozen food. JK
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