Born in bobbing clover hay,
July sun at close of day—
Black and gleaming little bull
Appetite all masterful.
Scarcely dried—his glossy silk,
When he started in to milk,
Tongue a-smack and bulging tum,
Filled at last—his vacuum.
Soft blue hoofs and knobby pegs
Soon were prancing just like legs;
Got him weaned till bran he took
Like a codfish bolts a hook,
Till he danced in sheer delight,
Till he waxed in youthful might.
Dawn of day and forth he went
For adventure—jubilant;
Innocent and wondering eyes,
All the world a glad surprise,
Then they drove him down the hill
In a crate—and wondering still;
Wondering as the world went by,
Green of trees and blue of sky,
What adventure—joyous, new,
Little bull was going to.