Milkmaid Poem by James McLain

The line this dream is endless, long hair now tied back.
Sitting down one milkmaid...with wet hands, explains.
Talking more, helps to eases some of there discomfort.
Her slim long arms are sculpted and well muscled as
she now trades talk for some country song.
With smooth practice and a love of singing is how she strokes.
Dawn runs off morning, hot noon mixes now with the evening.
These are the hands that work, magic on udders thick roots
as they wander around up and down, making butter.
Seven days a week with six children and her man, does a hard
twenty years for growing up with out a viable education.