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Jan 14, 2013

Down by the sliprails stands our cow 
Chewing, chewing, chewing, 
She does not care what folks out there 
In the great, big world are doing. 
She sees the small cloud-shadows pass 
And green grass shining under. 
If she does think, what does she think 
About it all, I wonder? 
She sees the swallows skimming by 
Above the sweet young clover, 
The light reeds swaying in the wind 
And tall trees bending over. 
Far down the track she hears 
the crack of bullock-whips, and raving 
Of angry men where, 
in the sun, Her fellow-beasts are slaving. 
Girls, we are told, can scratch and scold, 
And boys will fight and wrangle, 
And big, grown men, just now and then, 
Fret o'er some fingle-fangle, 
Vexing the earth with grief or mirth, 
Longing, rejoicing, rueing-- 
But by the sliprails stands our cow,