Beneath the shade of massive oaks
lies a heap of bovine tranquility
Silver-gray, like boulders strewn
closely upon the grassy lea
Barely moving, yet attentive,
not one soft eye is closed
A flick of ear, a swish of tail
alone, confutes repose
The meeting must be interesting
or, more likely a gabfest
The gentle creatures seem at
peace and fully self-possessed
This reminds me of hanging out in a field of cattle when I was young, and we'd swim in their watering hole. You described the scene perfectly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I GUESS IN THIS MEETING OF CATTLE, THERE ARE NO BULLS. JUST THE GABBING. A TEN FOR THEIR GAB