Sat upon an empty box of Cheerios and settled  Through the cracks of wooden floors  Forming little cone mountains  Fertile soil on which to rest  My dirty little white stone  With dimples to keep it from  Rolling down the dusty trail  Brought such straight rows  Like corn and peas  And foot caves in cold dirt  And the sore throat that follows  "Everyone always knew it ended this way,  But I still don't understand why...  Milking the cow didn't work."  She was warm and had a rough  Mus-cular tongue for licking  Salt blocks and brown eyes like a cow  And her name was Bossy.  We didn't eat her I don't think  sallysally@usa.net