Beside Our High Speed Highways;  Pastures Ever Few

The times when cows in pastures graze the green

Of day and look about in calm not far

From farm-house mornings are less seldom seen.

We buzz past barns that hide the scar

Of soul-less dairies, cows cooped up alone

In pens so we can have our milk and cream

And lightest yellow butter on a tea room scone.

The cattle mouths do not know how to scream

And so they chew the cud in cooped pen peace.

Their calves are caged away and fattened up

For veal or later milking.  Barnyard geese

Are never seen.  Cow prisons are cows’ cup.

  An art-sem vet comes in to service wombs

    And cows can only dream of large grass rooms.

~ Phillip Whidden