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.
Meditatio Ephemera 
Really lovely.
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Thank you.
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A beautiful poem! The last stanza is brilliant, bridged by that perfect, wistful “they are more beautiful than I remembered,” which says so much.
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Thanks, Bob, for this wonderful compliment, and your sustaining encouragement, which means so much. Now they’ll all be good, right? Oh …. never mind. 🙂
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Of course they’ll all be good! 😀
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You are endlessly a gentleman, dear Bob.
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Ha!
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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!
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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.
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