Poems My Grandmother Taught Me

Mr. Dinkle’s Cow

Mr. Dinkle was my friend.
(When I was four, I knew him),
His cow lived in the field by us,
When he fed her, I’d talk to him.

He’d sit down on a stool and milk
Her every night, I guess.
I asked him once what was her name,
And he said it was Bess.

Now Bess is not a cow’s name,
And so – and so – and so –
Mr. Dinkle never knew,
But I called her Dodo.

When he was gone I’d stand there,
And softly call her name,
“Come over here, Dear Dodo,”
And she’d come, since she was tame.

And yet at night when he’d call,
“Here, Bess!” she’d amble over.
Do you suppose it was because
She just liked hay and clover?

For don’t you think that any cow,
With good sense, more or less,
Would choose the name of Dodo,
And not the name of Bess?

~Dana B. Nelson


Husband. Father. Grandfather. Life enthusiast. Life coach. Commentator. My world. Sharing My perspectives.

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