OUR COW





Down by the sliprails stands our cow

Chewing, chewing, chewing,

She does not care what folks out there

In the great, big world are doing.

She sees the small cloud-shadows pass

And green grass shining under.

If she does think, what does she think

About it all, I wonder?



She sees the swallows skimming by

Above the sweet young clover,

The light reeds swaying in the wind

And tall trees bending over.

Far down the track she hears the crack

of bullock-whips, and raving

Of angry men where, in the sun,

Her fellow-beasts are slaving.



Girls, we are told, can scratch and scold,

And boys will fight and wrangle,

And big, grown men, just now and then,

Fret o'er some fingle-fangle,

Vexing the earth with grief or mirth,

Longing, rejoicing, rueing--

But by the sliprails stands our cow,

Chewing.





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