Although nothing is without end, <br />even the rain hammering down with hail, <br />it sometimes felt that way <br />with lightning bolts falling <br />down from the sky <br />like angry whip lashes <br />the young oxen milling around, <br />ready to stampede away <br />into the direction of the swamp <br />where the deadly tulips grow. <br /> <br />Your horse neighs frightened <br />drawing up her front hooves <br />with every thunder bolt lashing down <br />and you let her gallop at the edge of the cattle <br />to round them into the shelter of the camp, <br /> <br />cutting off the leading troublemakers <br />and the hail coming down in force <br />feels like buckshot from the old shotgun <br />and one ox, gigantic in size snorts <br />starts running on <br /> <br />crashing through small trees <br />of which the stems whiplash past your head <br />and when in anger you reach it, <br />it turns back and starts to walk back <br />into the direction of the camp <br />looking at you <br />with big eyes as tame as that of a cow. <br /> <br />[Reference: Cattle in the rain by Musaemura Zimunya.]<br /><br />Gert Strydom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cattle-in-the-rain/
