It is May, and livelihood is not a golden beast

I do wonder how one of my ancestors, who lived a life centred around tending her cattle, may see my screen-filled days. It would probably baffle her as to how what I do is work.* It was from such a wondering that I imagined the scene in Listen to me, you golden beauty. This poem

Listen to me, you golden beauty

Livelihood If you were a beast and it was May, I would say Listen to me, you golden beauty, we must walk through those flames. Do not fear. Shhh, calm, calm your hooves. Calm your trample, trampling. Look at me. With my hands to the muzzle I lead the prosperity of my summer yield, garlanded