Twilight is a time for reconnaissance
Of the whimsical or blind
Bovines of the village, cast adrift
In the madness of the moment,
The haste of homecoming
To familial, cushy dung.
Twenty men set about with whistles
Deep into the darkness of the bush,
Steering clear of thickets forbidden
By ancestral decree;
Men cannot be lost like cattle,
And yet they are,
About two every year
To the haste of homecoming.
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