The Torpid Cow wallowed blithely in the grass
Hurling out chunky cud of what had tickled upon it’s tail
Waiting for gun-slinging man to make his way past
Dreaming of a brighter day when it had run along the trail
The Torpid Cow did not cower in fear as the man he did take aim
For it knew that biker proverb as well as it knew that it was lame
Time to go; as is the way of life, that we ever are free range
So it waited peacefully; and the colour that ran was not o’range
The Torpid Cow made a fine, tasty meal for hundreds who came flocking
The crows, the men, the foxes, the bears all crowded and consumed
Crying for liver while tongue was in cheek, they all went to balking
So say the experts based on study of the Torpid Cow, exhumed
‘Here lays beneficent bones, sad remains of a bovine friend
Who never did a dirty deed or followed a fascist trend’
Yet what do these ones know of a time before their birth?
How could they say that THIS is how Torpid Cow met earth?
The Torpid Cow is gone away, no clear records now remain
Only what guesses as to it’s nature and tendencies reveal
But such guesses, while interesting, are in truth in vain
For it was executed for unnaturalness; having dined on veal.
2-10-2003 Written for Conor
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