The cow wandered into the corner
of the room and stood there, sullen,
stinking of the field. She stood there,
surrounded by books, on her muddy feet
between the shelves of books.
Gradually the cow settled down
into the cool angles of the ancient hardwood,
and, gradually, she turned into a chair
of supple leather, adorned with a cow-colored
pattern of cow-looking skin. Now, less
cow-like than before, the chair added a touch
of modern elegance to the room, perched
silently between the shelves of poetry and history,
fiction and mystery, beneath the Tiffany
lamps and the African patterned vases.
