Monday, September 04, 2006
End of Day
End of Day
1951
Toward evening, nearly milking time, at pinking of the sky,
we wander through the pasture -- my buddy, Dink, and I.
Around the bend, down to the pond, the worn trail leads us on
to where the cows and Sugar graze, and sure enough, they’re gone.
Off in the farthest corner we find them swatting flies,
their tails almost in rhythm, recognition in their eyes.
We have no rope or bridle, just jump on Sugar’s back.
She knows we’re only going home if she isn’t wearing tack.
She turns the cows and starts them up the trail in single file.
This is important business; she’s boss now for awhile.
She kicks up her heels, just teasing, to see what we will do.
A handful of mane and strong muscled legs have once more seen us through.
The whole procession enters the waiting open gate,
and we alight with sweaty pants as milking chores await.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
1951
Toward evening, nearly milking time, at pinking of the sky,
we wander through the pasture -- my buddy, Dink, and I.
Around the bend, down to the pond, the worn trail leads us on
to where the cows and Sugar graze, and sure enough, they’re gone.
Off in the farthest corner we find them swatting flies,
their tails almost in rhythm, recognition in their eyes.
We have no rope or bridle, just jump on Sugar’s back.
She knows we’re only going home if she isn’t wearing tack.
She turns the cows and starts them up the trail in single file.
This is important business; she’s boss now for awhile.
She kicks up her heels, just teasing, to see what we will do.
A handful of mane and strong muscled legs have once more seen us through.
The whole procession enters the waiting open gate,
and we alight with sweaty pants as milking chores await.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
