are gently nibbling the tasty green of their fields.
They lower their large heads to give earth's growth
a series of love-bites. Then they lie down
to ruminate on things, considering the
after-taste of grass like a wine connoisseur,
finding highlights to savor, undertones to detect,
subtleties that soil and sun have commingled.
When night falls, they become still,
listening to a distant barking dog,
oddly unmoved by the changed voice of their
ancient predator. As with all enemies,
time has made them neighborly.