the cows feed on the grass in their northern wild fields,
and the farmer is off fighting a war that he doesn’t belong to.
the thick weeds have flourished in the pastures
and spring calves become summer heifers and bulls.
the farmer's daughter gallops with buckets for milking
because of her, the fall harvest might be forgotten.
“there is too much death, and the heat is cooling
let them see the autumn leaves drop,” she pleaded.
the war ends at the sound of August’s horn
and the farmer arrives home with a full medal heart and half an arm.
his stomach is starving for a rare slice of patriotism.
so later that week, he herds the cows to the mahogany table
before the equinox has a chance to bloom across the northern fields.
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