Those Welsh Cows
Seen as voiceless
Inarticulate but they
Speak aloud with ever saddening eyes
It seems to me
Staring out of the dark shed
Their starkness seemingly
So languid and just so uninspired
Lacking clarity
What could they be thinking
Muddled and confused I guess
For them just pure inanity
And bafflement and stress
The wind was full on wintriness
Punishingly cold
Hypothermic shivering
Looking as if they had rolled
In mud and straw and who knows what
Fatigued it felt to me
Martyrs of the bovine kind
Metaphorically.
Rex Tyler is a Poet, Campaigner, former owner of an organic shop of 30 years, and Public Speaker living in Berkhamsted, UK.