A Cowherd
When I hold out my hand
To a calf,
As if to suckle
At its mother’s breast,
It sucks my fingers.
When I come
With a bucket full of milk,
To feed a young calf,
How he rubs against me and follows me about!
My sweet calf!
I set my young calf free.
With his tail high in the air,
How he runs and bounds
About the yard in circles!
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