Show A Poem in Prose The Family I sing about the stately with antlers growing on her tassel on her tail no other animal can put so and its foot inside a six-quart old cow prods me her and puts her on my and fills my soul with but she consoles me with some milk that's smooth and white and fine as and rich beyond The city-dwelling modern man goes to the grocer for a can of milk made by a or from the dairyman he'll get a pint of something pale and in which to soak his And all the people of that who live on canned or doctored are gaunt and sad of who keep a large red could polish Johnson and vindicate the You trample on my and when I come with you slug me with your muddy and nearly break my And when I'm in your you jam me up the and break three ribs or and when the bucket's nearly full of milk as white as carded you kick it through the But then that milk is just a and when it comes to sure-thing a man must have a and so I'll gladly overlook the passing the playful hook from those spikes on your Walt Mason in the Farm |