Trading Secrets Poem by James McLain

If I am to her/her cow.
I have known no long, great sorrow.
No short goodbyes, shedding tears.
Should I could but feel it, a very long time?
I have strongly felt, 'she it longer.
I have, I am not one of those others.
Who have a great need of your sorrow
watching the sun rise on the moor.
Trading secrets, great is our joy at noon.
Smiling you say: 'I have encountered it.'
Never smug, 'among those unpretentious
Famed are each our protegees of wisdom,
There seeming to stand
with one in each hand
as the creator and Isac Newton,
over why might the apple fall
so far from the tree.
When a simple conversation
about Darwinian theory
of why the orange monkey
still stays so high in the trees.
Mid-evil, such conversations
may or may not a landless prophet
to their simplicity of great temper
or as to the essence of the
apples shape or supple, 'is Eve for that matter.