Milk Plow (Till The Cows Come Home).

You lay on a bed of Corn Flakes,
Because they were all out of thorns,
And as I brought milk to you
You accepted with open arms.
Milk upon your milky white thighs
And a harvest of corn between;
I plowed until the cows came home
That’s when you decided to leave.
Now, I sit in cow’s austere stare,
Almost as if parental gaze,
With discerning eye judging me
Oh…
What a soggy mess I have made.