The Early Milking

A new day begins As the day before. The Jersey girls assemble themselves Into their usual cow chain. One girl’s head follows another’s tail. Then head then tail, All along the sodden trail. This habit has worn a pasture lane Of mud and muck, And cow to barn. They plod the path with bulging udders To give sweet milk made from clover. Lo! It is a ritual Of back and forth, To and fro! The sodden lane is dark as coal. A sleepy man Readies himself with pail, As the girls line up, First head then tail. Lo, it is a ritual Of muffled moos in grain filled troughs With yellow corn on drooling mouths. For each cow gets her morning treat As warm steam rises from the teat. Woe! A life of barnyard chores! By hand, he milks With stool and pail. Each pet waits her turn in line By head then tail. The sleepy bovine moan and snore. The man, he leans Against one’s side And rests his head in furry hide. Such labor, Grief, care and thought; Sometimes he thinks to sell the lot. Lo, barnyard smells invade his dreams With buttermilk And warm, sweet cream. Then big brown eyes meet his in friend. Come evening, He will milk again.