Sonnet 509

The cattle know when a storm is coming
And haste retreat into their straw filled barn,
As if a sixth sense had given warning
To seek of refuge in the safe and warm.
The sky, clear blue, showed no inkling of rain,
No thunder rumbled deep in distant hills;
Still in procession to the byre they came
As if on the green they’d gotten their fill.
Then safely ensconced in the piquant dusk
While softly lowing their grateful praise
And carefully nosing the floor fallen husks
For any morsel of forgotten grain.
In the distance a flash of brilliant light—
And again I saw, the cows were right.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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