LITTLE BLACK BULL
Born in bobbing clover hay,
July sun at close of day—
Black and gleaming little bull
Appetite all masterful.
Scarcely dried—his glossy silk,
When he started in to milk,
Tongue a-smack and bulging tum,
Filled at last—his vacuum.
Soft blue hoofs and knobby pegs
Soon were prancing just like legs;
Got him weaned till bran he took
Like a codfish bolts a hook,
Till he danced in sheer delight,
Till he waxed in youthful might.
Dawn of day and forth he went
For adventure—jubilant;
Innocent and wondering eyes,
All the world a glad surprise,
Then they drove him down the hill
In a crate—and wondering still;
Wondering as the world went by,
Green of trees and blue of sky,
What adventure—joyous, new,
Little bull was going to.