Litany of livestock
Bolting for the trees
And you, my shallow fellow,
Now prostrate on your knees.
Constricted conversation,
Leaves a muteness in the air
But a cognisance of attraction
To the company and flair.
There's a quiet appreciation
Of the feather and the fur
But the fact you held your ****** tongue
Means it's a credit to you, Sir.
For the power of rank opinion
Holds more menace than a gun
And the less that's said, in hindsight,
Means in parting ways... it's fun.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ