Tuesday, June 10, 2014


My Highland cows are an uncommon breed,
Excessive in hair and in horn.
Content eating either clover or weed,
And munching on thistle and thorn.

My Highlander cows are quiet cattle,
Just rarely they utter a word.
Owning life without conflict or battle,
Ruminating, and not being disturbed. 

My Highland cows are nonviolent beasts,
Though their weapons have no match.
Their aggressive ways have long ago ceased,
And their horns used mostly to scratch. 

But this spring, three little calves have been born;
And I, good farmer I am,
Decided I’d go down, early one morn
To see these three calves with their dams. 

The sun was just breaking over the trees
The dew glistened bright on the grass.
I walked down, interested to see,
If each calf was a laddie or lass. 

As I came near to my own little herd,
The three cows rose to their feet.
Their motherly instincts had been stirred,
And though I tried to be discreet… 

I was met with horns waving left and right,
They said, “Don’t come for a few days.”
I found myself feeling a bit contrite
For not respecting their ways.

So I let my cows be with their little brood,
To spend time with their newborn joys.
But I was also observant as I stood –
One girl and two little boys!

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