Playing For The Cows

A gentle slope,
green fields,  
those big dewy eyes,  
and that gentle, wet breath.  
I don't know what beauty is,  
but I believe if anything,  
it would be this.

As I watch brass play for you,  
and you gather gently to listen,  
enjoying it fully,  
but respecting from a distance.  
I don't know what love is,  
but I believe if anything,  
it would be this.

No lyrics, no voices,  
no screams,  
no devices—  
just a simple, merry tune  
with the smell of green.  
I don't know what conversation is,  
but I believe if anything,  
it would be this.