Upon yon meadow's gentle breast, they graze,

Fair creatures cloaked in hide of ebon hue.

In quiet pastures, love's soft flame does blaze,

As daisies weave a tale of love anew.

Majestic horns, like crescent moons they wear,

And eyes that gleam with bovine innocence.

In verdant fields, love's sonnet fills the air,

A symphony of mooing recompense.

Oh, tender souls in coats of onyx sheen,

With udders yielding streams of creamy gold,

Thy gentle lowing, like a lullaby serene,

In love's sweet pasture, tales of ardor unfold.

With cud-chewed verses, I declare my heart,

Entwined with thee, my bovine counterpart.

Cow vagina.