The bullock’s geometry

A bullock would look up
From a creaky grinding.

If only this grind-stone
Were square,not round

Or this groove were not
A circle but straight line

That ran on open-ended
Until those yonder hills

Or the stone would roll
As a tangent of groove

And trundle on the high
Road to the green hills

Where a fine cud awaits
And such cool shadows.

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