Ever wonder what goes on in the evening, after dusk, once the animals have all returned to the barn… Consider this…
Stories told at sunset’s arc when last the barn doors come to close, echo frames throughout the day, recalled in honor, artful prose that’s spoke in hushing laughter yet cast about in formal style, applauded when the speaker bows returning to the trough a while.
Amidst the hay and feed there, the poet cow enthralls in song, crafted day’s end stories collected from the farm’s sweet throng of horses bound to duty, of cows molested milking tales, of mice in chase and cats who beg to steal a sip from milking pales, of chicks and hens who peck about in counting grains of sand, of dogs who walk in mending fences beneath the gentle farmer’s hand.
Oh! The stories conjured, each verse with vim and vigor flows, weaves the country’s subtle life with dreams caught twixt the piglet’s toes.
The poet cow in bashful eye unmasks his soul when dusk is past, turns the stanzas fluently till all nod off and sleep is cast. Then to himself he mutters low, in Shakespearean tone and manner borrowed, “Good Night, Good night! … that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
formatted and posted for dVerse – Poet’s Pub, Open Link Night