The Milkmaid Poem by James McLain

The line..the stream is...
white and endless....
long hair...now tied back....
Sitting down one milkmaid...
wet soaked hands, explains....
Talking more...
eases a host of discomforts....
Her slim long arms.....
are sculpted and well muscled....
She trades talk...
for a soft country song...
With smooth practice....
and they love her sweet fingers....
up and down how she strokes...
squeezing out milk....


Dawn runs off morning...
hot noon mixes.. evening...
These are the hands that work magic...
udders so thick...
yet soft on firm roots...
as they wander around...
making butter....