The cows come home



at last, from others’
far-flung pastures,
where the grass
seemed greener

for a season.

And regard me with
their soft eyes, their
damp noses, their giant
gentle bodies,
tented flanks hollow
with the long journey,
their many stomachs rumbling.

They are more beautiful than I remembered.

I have waited so long, all
these years my pockets
full of grain.






    1. Thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. A beautiful poem! The last stanza is brilliant, bridged by that perfect, wistful “they are more beautiful than I remembered,” which says so much.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks, Bob, for this wonderful compliment, and your sustaining encouragement, which means so much. Now they’ll all be good, right? Oh …. never mind. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Of course they’ll all be good! 😀

        Liked by 2 people

        1. You are endlessly a gentleman, dear Bob.

          Liked by 2 people

  2. Oh my, that last stanza. This is a thing of beauty.

    In England, we kept hearing cautionary tales about cattle attacking hikers as they “carry on through the fields.” We need a different poem for the angry Angus!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I can’t even say “angry angus.” 🙂

      Thanks for the affirming response, Jane; always an encouragement. Let us convene on my deck soon with libations, that I may hear your travel tales in the unabridged.

      Liked by 1 person

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