Cattle And Their Herd Boy Poem by chichichapatile mangochi

Evey morning he takes us to the river,
to graze and drink water and play
our mooing he does not understand
Unor his glum face and language do we withstand
by the river
he rolls a big stone to a tree and sit down
leaning his back against its bark
our beating-stick lying by his side
his eyes vacant and unseeing
at little naughty merriment we make in the grass
switching our tails in content with tales of the day
he loves us as his own animals
his stick beating is light and cool and instructional
meant not to let ourselves go astray and lost
but gather ourselves around in defence against
our common enemy
at road crossing before crossing
counting us one by one with his index finger,
and report to his master that we've come back home all
well fed, well played in our little games of moo and boo
when the sun is finally dancing to welcome the night.