DOING THE CONGA

The cows were in the fields again today,

Lowing softly

As they grazed their lives away.

What thoughts did they possess

As they chewed their grass so sweet;

Did they think about their comrades

That they did daily meet;

Or the colour of their skin

As they passed in the noonday sun;

With their patchwork blankets skin-tight

As they congaed past as one.