A Birthday Poem

Just past dawn, the sun stands 

With its heavy red head

In a black stanchion of trees, 

Waiting for some one to come 

With his bucket 

For the foamy white light 

And then a long day in the pasture. 

I spend my days grazing

Feasting on every green

Moment

Till darkness calls, 

And with the others

I walk away into the night 

Swinging the little tin bell

Of my name.