Look up at the clouds, sweet sorrow, <br />on this nice day, and think <br />of the blackness staying <br />past overnight. <br /> <br />Black cows, we've tipped you. <br />We've watched you die. <br />Age ten, age eleven-forever. <br />Some memories must wither, <br />Black cows... <br /> <br />Beyond the moon, <br />there are no cows <br />and if there were <br />we could not touch them. <br />Over that slight fence, <br />we pushed them, then ran. <br /> <br />Let me tell you, sweet sorrow... <br />Beyond the moon, there are no cows. <br />They die in pastures near my home. <br />And there's a fence few cross, <br />only to regret, <br />for the grass grows wild <br />as we graze.<br /><br />MARINA GIPPS<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cows-for-the-late-great-tom-moore/
