Alone, In God's quiet
On a far hill
Where wild woods meet pasture
I meet a group of cows.
One spots me and all gallop in my direction.
I hadn't known such bulky animals could run.
I'm afraid, and think I ought to retreat to the woods,
But I stand planted, mesmerized by their interest in me.
They slow up at ten feet and approach gently,
huge heads outstretched.
I never knew cows' faces were so pretty,
their eyes so warm.
I extend my hand to the leader,
A great raspy tongue licks me like a dog.
Thick tongue I once ate boiled and salted.
If only we could meet our meat on a far hill,
alone in God's quiet,
Before we meet it on a plate.