A brown cow with white markings
stood by the fence looking pensive.
When she turned her heads
I saw that she had a glass eye
and I thought why did the farmer bother?
Mind, I had noticed that one of his dogs
had an artificial leg,
a crude affair,
a piece of wood and leather straps.
Perhaps he was a man
with a great sense of order,
our legs not three,
a pair of big blue eyes, not one
and four tits instead of two!
What!

The cow looked relieved
seeing me
and not the farm’s maid,
the milking machine had broken down,
the maid’s hands were dry,
beside she lacked sensitivity.
The cow would rather be milked by the farmer,
a gentle soul, who always spat in his hand before he began,
but he was ploughing today
and would continue as long as the light lasted.
The cow turned its seeing eye towards me,
but sighed when she saw
that I didn’t have a land-man’s hands.