I who live in a house with a roof,
And the cow who lives out of doors,
The cow who walks with a cloven hoof
And I who have shoes like yours,
We two have been friends for many a day
Though we never have shaken hands,
It is true she has little or nothing to say,
But I'm certain she understands.
She was browsing the grass by the brink of the brook,
When I went down the garden to see
She lifted her head with an earnest look,
And slowly came over to me.
I stood by the fence which stretches about
Twixt garden and pasture-land,
I pulled up a lettuce and held it out,
And she munched it out of my hand.
Since then we are very good friends indeed,
But she never has spoken a word:
But whatever I tell her she seems to give heed,
I can see by her eyes she has heard.
F. W. Home.
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