Meeting the rescued calf

I stroked the head of a calf

Saved from slaughter,
Settled in the straw but still unsure
Of what life is. 
With the lightest touch of my hand
On his soft forehead, 
Despair weighed down on my soul
That the other young cows were gone,
And willed so.

Not I. 

I try to communicate this to him - 
That I get my heart kicked by human feet under white tablecloths,
That I'd rather my heart be on a stable floor covered in mud and hay, anyway.
There is loneliness in reverence 
For his life - 

But not for him. 

LJ Ireton