I was strolling along when a voice in my brow
said “It’s never too late to bedazzle a cow.”
And this inner authority added a note—
that I might as well start with the cow at my throat,
for indeed a big Guernsey was pressing my neck
with a shiv in her hoof, and some bilious dreck
to repeat in that murderous argot of Mu
with a quaver to render each platitude new.
But then Herkimer Duffeltote—dubious name
for a deus ex machina—jumped in the frame
and karate chopped Elsie, who shambled right off.
Now the moral arrives (here imagine a cough):
When your milker is mouthy and daring to go
off her nut, let a god-hick apply the shutō;
or If violent endings are too curt to use
in your doggerel, bellow moronic adieus!