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Poem Number 105

Here, the poet compares the sun, and then himself, to a cow.

A Birthday Poem

Ted Kooser

Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.


from FIELD, Number 62, Spring 2000
Poetry Daily

Copyright 2001 by Ted Kooser.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced with permission (click for permissions information).