Bossie Cow

I can not pass,
The old corral.
Nor hear the tinkling,
Of a bell.

Unless my heart,
Goes very low.
And I think of Bossie,
In the long ago.

Standing there,
Where she was seen.
Just eating clovers,
Among the green.

She filled our bucket,
With rich, white milk.
So creamy it was,
And was just like silk.

Old Bossie...was gentle,
In the family...with no fuss.
When I'm thinking...I count her,
As human...as us.


E.P. 1908 - 1989