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Calf


The calf was tired from being born.
Its mother had disappeared.

Lying in the grass the bright brown

body with its
perfectly white face

as if deflating

thinned out of sight almost.
It could stand no longer

even with human help.

I thought it
lost.

But just a little later,

once the knowledgeable farmer
who runs the place arrived,

the mother was returned

and the calf played
skipping through the dimming light

of its first day.


Elizabeth Arnold

Skeleton Coast
Flood Editions


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