How Cora hates to be a cow
Hanging around, just anyhow
Seeking shade under the bough
Collecting flies on her broad brow
Ogling at the next-door sow
Who’s farting ceaselessly somehow
And jealous of the farmer’s plough
That moves so unimpeded now
She’d love to run away, but how?
She munches gently hour on hour
Regurgitating boring chow
A practice I must disavow
A rude and strange bovine know-how
Ingenious – you must allow
For such a listless country cow
Boy, am I glad that I’m a Frau
With all the gifts God could endow
Oh Cora p’raps I’m too high-brow
My chewy friend and trusty cow.
But wait, before I mutter «ciao»
Here comes your lover Bill, right now

In neighbouring paddock stands our Bill
Having a quiet Sunday chill
He’s full of virtuous goodwill
So close to Cora it’s a thrill
His pulse goes into overkill
She doesn’t have a single frill
But next to her time just stands still
He’d have her of his own freewill
That bloody fence – if looks could kill.

Photo:  Pexels.com / Lukas Hartmann

Copyright: Rosemary McGuire