Is It Poetry
'Oh daddy' with your pink of finger tips
and from which cow did you come from today?
Watching; i know, from whom's udders, you drink from today?
Thy milk 'oh' it runs by each sunny face you removed
around the lips each love have i embraced.
Milk-it thus to me daddy, milk it to me now!
Take me thus to the barn! hurry me up,
hurry me up, come and hurry, walk faster,
before besty's leaves are blown too far away.
And thus i look at it transfixed
where each clear pail half full with it
sloshing the milk it is thick at the top
foamy and sweet and full with it.
Thinking, of a quicker than i, as her pet 'humming bird'
and Daisy absorbed poetry; so much more quickly
and each dropp that it drips,
is one less i loose, because of it.
Loving one seed that she finds, and runs
off too plant today and i am still hearing
and when they milk it.
Where does it come from, how does it get there?
Green hay, is it sweeter than brown?
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Comments about this poem (milking poetry by Is It Poetry )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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