Annie sits upon the milking stool,
Her head is pressed into the cow;
Between her fingers, deft and cool,
The milk squirts till the pail is full;
It’s easy, but you must know how.
I’ve tried and tried, but it won’t come,
And Annie only stands and jeers.
‘Oh, use your fingers and your thumb!’
I feel like running way back home,
To hide my face and hint of tears.
The cow is restless, lifts her feet,
The bucket nearly spills the lot.
So Annie takes again her seat
And stokes the milk from swollen teat
While I look on, my shame forgot.
And as I’m sitting in a dream,
Upon a heap of straw and chaff,
She twists her hand and sends a stream
Of milk into my eyes: I taste the cream,
And Annie has a hearty laugh.