Cows Come Home
Iíll love you ítil the cows come home
and they did,
swishing through thirty years of silken shit.
She folded what remained
packed and pat in her leather case.
The herd lowed softly,
brown eyes blinking
at the sound of a single gun-shot to the head.
If you have any comments on this poem, Sally Brown
would be pleased to hear from you.