Rosco* was left to settle into soil
beneath fidgeting Mannas*, pinnacle,
bowed was his leonine, Limousine head
upon hocks tucked under, 'little lamb'*-ish.

His hide has long since stiffened into tin,
black tufts rusted on corrugated ruin,
his bones lie scattered, leeching nutrient,
yet all feels apposite and reverent.

But what have you done with the injured cow?
tractor-forked, then dumped on a wreckage pyre,
refused the minutest of dignities,
suffering stage-managed ignominies.

Dark cairn oppressing pile of spindle trees,
can't help but think you're a sign meant for me.

.........................................................................

*Rosco was our previous bull.
*Manna Gums: a eucalyptus tree with very fine leaves easily stirred by wind.
*The quote comes from  Blake's poem: 'The  Lamb' http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172926