Reflection
Ev’ry morning, just past six,
And ev’ry afternoon,
Grandpa left the house to milk
The cow who leaped the moon.
Right beside the barn door he
Would stop and tip the pail,
Mealtime for the cat who played
The fiddle with her tail.
Tippy gazed with soulful eyes,
As farm dogs often will.
Her dinner dish replenished,
Pa’s load now lighter still.
Passing Grandma on the porch
The bucket caught her eye.
She queried, with a knowing grin,
“What happened…cow go dry?”
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