Ceenoa

I wrote this poem for Hugh, over at Hughs Views and News, after he made a comment on this post.

I milked the cow in the morning,
on the day that I was wed,
a daily chore I deemed worth doing,
which made me rise, extra early from my bed.

The comforting sound of chewing,
her flank so warm, and soft as silk,
rhythmic sounds of fluid streaming,
as the bucket filled with milk.

I leaned my head against my cow,
and gentle handed squeezed,
as in my head I said my vows,
repeated now with familiar ease.

I milked the cow in the morning,
of the day that I was wed,
and in contrast to her cream white milk,
I married in a suit of red.