ON DAY DREAM HILL

On Day Dream Hill I rest my bovine eyes under a pale blue sky
on a grassy knoll where neither Jack nor Jill can ever intrude upon this hill--For I stand firm on plenty a field of wild, wild clover
And it is here I lay claim to this open range I call my “quiet green”.
Today a restless wind begins to stir
As tree branches sway and leaves are swirling about,
Grass hoppers become frantic; hundreds of flies busying themselves to find shelter on my jersey and while the winged-ones above give warning of an incoming storm, I roll mine eyes skyward,
“Oh their goes Ms. Blue Jay again,
she’s always squawking about something!”
I grumble, “Hey B J, Forget who ruffled your feathers,
Come down here and get these pesky flies off my Jersey!”

While in the distance I hear that familiar clamor of that daily bell,
The master of the land does always insist on calling me home--ding,dang ding!
Yet there is something that puzzles me,"how come is it that my barn yard friend can always tell when my stomach is full of chlorophyll?"
Yet I must admit I do roam free and I regularly dine-out till I am content--
For when I chew my cud well I do swell and do feel its splendor,
But then again brings me to wonder, "where do all these buckets of milk end up?" "To whom will it serve or nourish anyway?"

I'm reminded the answer does manifest when i close mine eyes on my quiet green,that is,the fertile soil of my imagination as I now visualize YOU having the pleasure to either pour yourself a glass of milk with cookies,
to fill your cereal bowl or to place an order for Café Latte.

Per chance should you take a drive to the countryside you may spot me
lingering in a nearby meadow. When you do spot me,let's remember that together we do share or cherish this symbiotic UTTER Truth: Because of YOU having now Got Milk,I too get to view another sunrise, survive another sundown--Why I am so damn alive on Day Dream Hill... Thank you.