Kathryn’s ode to the wandering cows….

Whose cows they are, I think I know.
They live ‘way past the village though.
From my neighbor this land he rents
But who’s supposed to fix the fence?

And so with some regularity
Strangers stop to call on me.
“Your cows are out!” they cry, upset,
Surprised at me, as I don’t fret.

They’re not my cows but I will try
To reach the neighbor by and by
[Though sorely tempted to let it be –
The cows will go back eventually –
Yet cars and cows are a bad mix
I wish the goshdarned fence they’d fix!]

And so again I call nieghbor
Who acts as if he does me a favor.
He wanders up to get the cow
Who’s wandered back into her field by now.