From pasture to plate

In meadows green it spends its day,

Then strolls to the barn to pay its way.

The rent is just a pail of milk.

Rewarding the farmer with pure silk.


In every farm the cow will graze,

Its calmness never ceases to amaze.

But despite the music of its moo,

Few will give the beast its due.


As cows calmly chew their grass,

From field to plate they soon  will pass.

To eat their flesh to some seems mean,

Depriving them of meadows green.


From pasture to plate the cows must go,

As into the restaurants hungry customers flow.

Maybe out there for a birthday treat,

To savour and enjoy their tasty meat.







◄ You could be president!

Dead money ►


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Caoimhe June Jane Ryan

Thu 18th Oct 2018 11:36

Great poem! I grew up on a dairy farm. I get confused sometimes when I feel for somewhat attached to the animals but then I still sit down for dinner in the evening eating what is in the yard. It doesn't make sense why we do this . I really like this poem ?

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Brian Maryon

Thu 18th Oct 2018 10:53

Hi Hugh - you've described exactly what happens in dairy farming, except that dairy cows at the end of their productive period do not end up in restaurant meals...more likely dog food. Nevertheless I can't find a deep message if that was your intention. Otherwise a good rhythm and as always, strict rhyming.

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Taylor Crowshaw

Thu 18th Oct 2018 10:42

Good poem Hugh and it makes a valid point..I live in a farming community.. I eat meat I am more concerned about their welfare whilst alive..from 'pastures green to plate' does seem a good life. The cows in UK and Ireland are fortunate indeed to live in that way. Unfortunately that is not always the way. ❤

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