The cows are lowing tonight in the field below our small, white house. It reminds me of my babies, many years ago, in their small, white crib. I would sit with them, lowing, and rocking, and giving milk to their thirsty lips. We sustained each…
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The cows are lowing tonight in the field below our small, white house. It reminds me of my babies, many years ago, in their small, white crib. I would sit with them, lowing, and rocking, and giving milk to their thirsty lips. We sustained each…