Neanderpundit

And have no idea where it went. I will dig it up and repost. In the meantime, here’s some soothing music.

Nothing to pull out of my ass, alas.

So a twelve line poem of 60 syllables- a minute poem.

Where is my cow?
Where is my cow of golden horn
and molars worn
from grinding hay
the livelong day?

Where is my cow of dappled brown
alone in town,
her sweetened cream
is like a dream.

My cow leaves loaves of fragrant shit-
A pie, to whit
releasing gas
and feeding grass.