Pining for All the Days to Come
There are baby cows
on the neighbor’s farm again
like every year around this time
little shadows
romping beside their mothers
in lush grass and sunshine.
I know in a few short weeks,
the babies will disappear,
and the moms will wander
lost along the fence row
mooing and crooning
for the bleats of their babes,
searching,
forever searching.
3 thoughts on "Pining for All the Days to Come"
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OK, I’m bawling along with the cows!
And for reason that is not clear to me, this poem says more using “baby cows” than it would with “calves.”
Oh you capture that sad sound so well