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.