A 'Milkmaid' Poem by James McLain

Human souls...like..
night and day...rivers..
high and banked...
That give no thanks..
Streams..endless streams..
white and endless....
hair...tied back....
Modern day.....
she is a heroine..
Sitting down......
her wet soaked hands....
and talking softy...each..
gentle stroke produces more..
Her slim long arms.....
like tan marble..
are sculpted...
and thick each wrist..
seeing both...
they are well muscled....
She talks...trade...
her milk and butter...
for flour...
bacon and some eggs..
and on the radio..
that croons...
a soft country song...
With smooth practice....
and they...
like most heavy roots.
love her sweet long fingers....
as up and down....
she milks each stroke...
and to those ends....
as she switches..
hands....
was after all...
what you were after...