MAMA COW'S BEEF
My heart is sad, my MOOOOd is black,
The MOOOOn is down, alas, alack,
No hopeful MOOOve do I approve,
The question's MOOOOt, my hope is slack.
My beef? dear God: my life! my dream!
Where are my calves! Where goes my cream?
The fleas, the flies,
These I despise!
But loss of young! A grief supreme!
Men push us out at crack of dawn,
When we come home, our calves are gone!
We think: How long
Can this go on?
They think: Calf-skin! Veal Parmesan!
I chew my cud and ruminate
The sad disaster of my fate,
A mother's heart
All torn apart!
While growing old and overweight.
Some papal bulls bray: Don't Complain!
(Though death and separation reign)
And saints advise
"God's ways are wise:
Somehow new life will always rise."
But others say the question's MOOOOOT,
No cow can dig to mystery's root!
Whatever's true,
I see why You
Don't answer every time we MOOOOOO!
from the forthcoming book Prayers of 100 Animals A to Z, by William Cleary
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