Six black cows, dotting

A wide yellow field,

Under low,

Stroking the ground,

Vast and endless,

Gray sky.

A lonely piece, of rusty

Fence,

Leaning back,

Twisted,

Left to guard,

Barely holding its own.

Rolling, blue hills,

Their silhouettes just

A faint possibility,

Jagged the sky, as

A hazy backdrop,

To an arising scene.

Suddenly a thunder,

Waves of booming thuds,

Pounding the earth,

Like a beating

Of a giant heart,

Deepening the quiet.

 Flat yellows,

Swirling grays,

Deep blues,

And in their midst; dot…dot…dot,

Six black cows,

Now lying on the ground, waiting for the rain.