Rosa, the cow, was getting swaybacked and bony hipped,
her big slack udder yielded no milk,
her time as a useful animal was over,
the farmer sighed and rang a number
he had reluctantly rung many times before.

The box van came next morning
Rosa didn’t want to leave,
but the men used to truculent old cows quickly
got her in the box where she dismal mooed her little world
all she had ever now taken away from her
and tomorrow she would be no more.

Money changed hands,
not much, and guiltily without counting them
the farmer put the cash in his wallet.
When the van left
the farmer cleared his throat
and said something about getting a cold,
went into the parlour and had a drink.

I can see him clearly now,
watery blue eyes, a reddish face
and upon his tobacco stained lips
a shy smile is ready to break into a grin.