Way more of a loser at this point
Than you might not understand
End of the herd with aching back joint
Still moving slowly over the land
Have filth to clean right now
Write poetry to put it off a little longer
Moo, moo, says this worn out milk cow
Wailing out as she's old, not stronger
Used to run around the county
Serving fresh cream on the spot
Now this old heifers lost the bounty
Of running from the chase and getting caught
The prairie hills once roamed have turned to washing laundry
The perfection once attained has now gone sour
Washing, drying, sweeping, mopping is the quandary
To wash one of bossy's bras will surely take an hour