The Milker Poem by Margaret O Driscoll

Cows stalled up
munching swards of hay
The milker seated
on a three-legged stool,
deft hands drawing,
milk rhythmically hitting
the tin bucket

A cushion of froth rises
as the milker's hands
alternatively draw deftly
His brow resting
by the cow's haunch
The next cow he fears will
needs spancelling

She turns her head
showing the whites of her eyes
He approaches her cautiously,
careful to watch himself

The cat calls for
a saucer of warm milk