Sat upon an empty box of Cheerios and settled Through the cracks of wooden floors Forming little cone mountains Fertile soil on which to rest My dirty little white stone With dimples to keep it from Rolling down the dusty trail Brought such straight rows Like corn and peas And foot caves in cold dirt And the sore throat that follows "Everyone always knew it ended this way, But I still don`t understand why... Milking the cow didn`t work." She was warm and had a rough Mus-cular tongue for licking Salt blocks and brown eyes like a cow And her name was Bossy. We didn`t eat her I don`t think sallysally@usa.net
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