A September Poem: Cows

Fields sprinkled in
Good morning residue,
Sprout tips dipped in
Midnight’s dainty drops.

Calves and cows
Make their rounds,
By the fence
Shared with weeds.

Their coats
Pure white
Like kitchen cream.

Shielded sun
Clouds distort,
Golden hill
Teal land sweeps
Beneath.

A creek trickles
In meager chains of
Sterling.

The center tree
Begins to bare
Leaves abandoning
The bended branches.

Grass blades press
Beneath the heavy prints
Of polk-a-dotted
Beasts.

Summer rolls
Like the fog,
Autumn snags onto
The next moment,
But first quietly.

Whispers of apple
Whistles of acorn,
Hums of squash
Stirs of pumpkin.

The wind gently jostles
Across the land,
Wind chimes and
Cow bells.

The sun lifts,
Ground ablaze
In the green and gold
Traditions.

A mower roars
And whirs
The final corn
Harvested,
Sweet, white, yellow
A meal’s complement.

The September sun
A paler shade of cheese
Rises higher,
Salivation strings
Shining,
Stretching from mouth
To ground.

Afternoon grazes
Lead to evening snoozes.
Sometimes huddled
Sometimes dispersed.

Fields sprinkled in
Good night gleam.

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