And It Is The Same For Us Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Cattle approach, smelling the air and licking their noses.
And it is the same for us who know we're lost.
We climb a hillock slowly with bells ringing loudly.
And tails twitching, flicking away nuisance vexations,
Irritations the likes of which we've never encountered before
We snort and shiver, turning left to right.
But on reaching the brow of the hill, we see fresh pastures.
Rolling Meadows, and we are glad to be once more fear-free.