Ode To Range Cows-2nd Movement Poem by Laura Lee (Davis) Snyder

There you sit
royalty among tall grasses.
The gall of you all
within my gate, within my own fences,
uninvited you recline in splendor.
You turn your great heads,
eyes with no guile
speak innocence.
Thieves beyond conscience in green pastures
chew cud like some gum-chewing adolescent
to cover eighty-five acres of guilt.
You admit to no nationality.
You, the free citizens of the world,
tear down borders that keep you from your seven stomachs.
The ruminations of your trespass
I hear over the truck's running engine.
If I should call out eviction,
assert my rights of ownership,
you would revenge yourselves upon my fence work
ignoring the wide open gate.
Yes, I have grass to spare,
but you will not be good neighbors.
You return the favor of my sweet clover
leaving no certain place for my feet.