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Poems of M. W. McDermott

The Cattle Gather Round

There's not much sound
At days first light.
The cattle gather round.
The Bulls stand guard
At days first light.
The cattle gather round.
One first, then others follow...
To drink from local stream.
The cattle gather round.
In morning light
The beasts do stand.
In silhouette...
Their shape takes form.
Great beast with horns held high,
They stand with Scottish pride.
The cattle gather round.
They drink their fill, fresh water.
And Make way to mornings brunch.
Where warm sun shines and warms the blood.
The cattle gather round.
Wee calves suckle swollen bags.
In silence they consume,
Mothers milk.
Till they too reach their fill.
Kind mother will then hide in place...
The cattle gather round.
Such sights as these,
Do we partake each morning,
As the Dew flees to the sky.
The cattle gather round.

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