Cushy cow has curly horns,
Delicate, tipped with brown.
Swifter her hoofs fly backward
Than any bull’s in town.
We milk her into great white pails
And crocks of cottage blue,
And her leavings run all over the yard –
Yet our milking is never through!
I found her at smoky twilight
By the well of the pale primrose,
Where grey elves hung on her haunches
And nuzzled her grazing nose.
But as they cried and cheeped to her
And whined both plaintive and shrill,
I caught her by the lock that’s loose
And dragged her up Dead Man’s Hill!
Awhile she pined for the magic herb,
Awhile for the spring that’s young;
But since my sweetheart has sung to her
She holds a contented tongue.
Yet it’s by but a thread and a broken gate
We hold our fairy of kine.
She suckles elf babies still, by night,
Who wither on cowslip wine!
(Laura Benet)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Youth Poems, Spring Poems, Wine Poems, Cows PoemsBased on Keywords: nuzzled, suckles, crocks, cushy, cheeped