In the Cow Pasture
The mortal hurry drops from me.
I am a brown beast, kind and slow.
Along uneven paths I go
And nip a young thorn-apple tree.
I do not care to move at all
When sudden thunder-showers fall,
Pasturing ruminatively.
I am a brown beast, kind and slow.
Along uneven paths I go
And nip a young thorn-apple tree.
I do not care to move at all
When sudden thunder-showers fall,
Pasturing ruminatively.
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