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cows

íTil the Cows Come Home

Iíll love you ítil the cows come home
she said,
and they did,
swishing through thirty years of silken shit.

She folded what remained
and left.
Their marriage
packed and pat in her leather case.

The herd lowed softly,
chewed cud,
brown eyes blinking
at the sound of a single gun-shot to the head.

Sally Brown

If you have any comments on this poem,  Sally Brown  would be pleased to hear from you.

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