Soft enumerations I can hear
From the voices across the hall,
Counting, counting the moments of remaining quasi-peace
That rest beneath the hide of the life that calls out.

A cow crosses the field in that time,
Making the foxes appear to be moving at a snail’s pace,
Sending waves of shock to the spectators,
Whose ambivalence led the cow’s self afflicting crime.

The grass is greener on the other side,
No mandated cud consumption,
Or stringent guidelines on milk production,
Just serenity, an escape from the rules it abides.

With this, the cow has a rapturous moment,
An existential ecstasy, nostalgia sweeps over the cow,
It remembers the fond memories of the fields to the North,
And the cow could not be happier.