Ankole Cattle

Muscled mass, horn of plenty,

Ankole cattle - my plates empty.

Shimmering light on leather hides,

Take off those shoes, walk not in pride,

Turn not your backs make slow to speed,

Meet not their eyes with want or greed.

Lyre-like horns, graze not your ego,

God gives form and life’s libido,

Be glad they lie in heat of day,

A Cattle lido - graze and stay.

What’s your beef then pick a bone,

A Suffolk field is now their home.

©Philip Holden

2003

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