Musing of Mules
Two mules stood, as if they could
Remain always immobile.
One would have said that they were dead
Except that would be puerile.
For their repose was not like those
Whose spirit lives in exile.
A silage trough stood not far off
They watched it like an aedile.
They perhaps were fraught with carnal thought
And meant to breed.Â Quite futile.
Twas not, forsooth, that now fled youth
Left them animus anile.
One parent horse, they had of course,
Been born infertile.