The Dreaming Tree

My college life would've been bland and incomplete,
Without the odd patched hide and tempting teat,
A day would have hardly been through,
Without stepping in freshly laid cow do,
But bovinity is not be poked fun at,
Or shooed or beaten or spanked or spat,
For though my love for cows first grew out of pity,
It later greatly helped me understand bestiality.

Now where do I begin on my muses?
Her nimble walk? or the way she peruses,
That blade of grass she's about to munch,
For breakfast, supper and tomorrow's brunch?
How her lovely tongue dives into her nose,
And the ninja tail that fights those crows,
Oh I must stare into those eyes before I be dead,
Sadly that big, blue dustbin is stuck on her head.

I'm sure the Angelinas and Deepikas and Ashes,
Pray everyday for a cow's eyelashes,
How they flutter like a butterfly's that has flung,
In some odd way, at her face, a little dried cow dung,
Indubitably, the creator had a master tape that he took home,
And designed on it a cow's genome,
For never has there been a fair animal so great,
That tastes even better on my dinner plate.