COW
Just such a little tapeworm.
Why suffers the draught cow of the herd,
where all the rest put in their faith absurd?
She pulls alone, she never wins,
her yoke is fixed, her toil begins.
The draught cow dreams — still suffers, still unheard.
Lie down! Sit down! Upon your back, the weight —
a heavy log, the burden of her fate.
What does her strength at all provide?
It takes, it eats, it will not give inside.
Perhaps a throb of anger left to wait.
Who dares to fight, when power makes the law?
Its goals unspoken, no defense, no flaw.
So cow is silent — yet she shakes,
she hopes, though life is not hers to remake.
Author: Veron
