The Cow in Apple Time
by Robert Frost
Sometimes inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate
And think no more of wall-builders than fools
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.
Princess Lethe Community Member 
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