Monday, 15 March 2010
Just came across this poem by Robert Frost, who lived for a time near Dymock, north of Gloucester. The cow pictured lives in Baltonsborough, Somerset. There are few better places than these for cidermaking.
THE COW IN APPLE TIME
Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.