Feuding Cattle

I badly fear feuding cattle, Vexed into a ferocious battle; An endless shudder at the goring horn To them granted when they were born. I could imprison the defecating cattle And off and on heatedly rattle About their messy-looking hilly dung, At all corners of an expanse, filthily flung. But I do pity the knife-facing cattle, Just as I would an on-a-slab-turtle, Of resistance dispossessed, no less of mettle; To soon in active kitchen pots settle… I could Imitate journeying lazing cattle, This intently doing and not a little, If my destination be an object funeral, No lucky grabbing of a bottle of mineral.