Hanque O . . . - A Fine Line

Along the trampled shore of the pond,
where cattle hooves have pocked the mud—
a newborn calf, its mother licking it.

The breeze sends tiny ripples toward the calf,
but it is unaware, shakes its soggy head
as if to clear away a puzzling thought.

I carry the slimeslick calf up the hill
away from the water's edge, where one misstep
on tottering legs might be its last.

Mother, weary, tolerates this abduction
following her calf to higher ground
as if drawn by a loose set of strings.

A little later the calf is sucking at the teats,
its belly filling out, mastering life with each pull.
Around the pair the herd grazes,

most already with their calf, the others wait
without anticipation. It is a fine day to be born.
A rural idyll and one new life.

Nearby vultures perch in a leafless elm.
A pessimist might note how close
to the water the calf had been. It is that close.

Hanque O . . .

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-fine-line-8/