Down by the slipralls stands our cow
   Chewing, chewing, chewing,
She does not care what folks out there
   In the great, big world are doing.
She sees the small cloud-shadows pass
   And green grass shining under.
If she does think, what does she think
   About it all, I wonder?


She sees the swallows skimming by
   Above the sweet young clover,
The light reeds swaying in the wind
   And tall trees bending over.
Far down the track she hears the crack
   of bullock-whips, and raving
Of angry men where, in the sun,
   Her fellow-beasts are slaving.


Girls, we are told, can scratch and scold,
   And boys will fight and wrangle,
And big, grown men, just now and then,
   Fret o'er some fingle-fangle,
Vexing the earth with grief or mirth,
   Longing, rejoicing, rueing -
But by the slipralls stands our cow,
   Chewing.