Across the fields, at close of day, <br />When mists fall low, and the skies are grey, <br />The cows with solemn slowness plod, <br />Homeward, through oozing, squelching sod, <br />And into gleaming cubicles across the road, <br />Await the release of their 'precious' load. <br /> <br />Of course, they cannot have realised, <br />That their'contents' end up being sterilised, <br />Sold in plastic bottles of varying sizes, <br />Or in cartons on which a firm advertises <br />The healthy benefits of natural milk. <br />Which slips down the throat, as smooth as silk. <br /> <br />Cows are the most beautiful creatures, <br />Have you, at any time, studied their features, <br />Their huge big eyes with lashes flattering, <br />And lusty tails, that are constantly battering <br />Their rear ends, keeping the flies at bay. <br />My admiration for them, I would like to convey. <br /> <br />We tend not to notice them behind their walls, <br />Chained securely to their milking stalls, <br />Each day, producing milk to fill our fridges, <br />While continually being pestered by scores of midges. <br />Poor souls! When next time you buy your milk by the quart, <br />Of these charming creatures, 'Please, Please give a thought! '. <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/milking-time/
