Tram Poem by Daniel Y.

The tram is filled with poison air
Escape my breathing-tree!
The cattle bumble all around,
and worry about rain.

Always looking at the herd,
always working at their curd,
they never think,
“Vanity, vanity! ”

Fearful, they stay huddled close,
Curious, move the plains verbose.
But who can hear above the groans,
“MOove AWN...”

From the top of the hill, green and sweet.
Perched we see the pastures.
And yet they never look above,
to ponder skyish gestures.