My moocow needs to awaken but my alarms don't rouse for sleep. Four more forward things press my snooze, forewarned of schisms in my dreams (of utopian pastures, wherefore my moocow needs more food and the shade of trees). You both protest too much. The broth is settling still, the bursted bubbles bale my lost sense of urgency, no boils or hail helm my anxieties, which brood on softer sinews in their complacent undulation between cud and other rumination. My moocow says she doth hear anew what you would have her chew. Poor Henry and Slim Jimmy sit stooped under the eave of the school, looking past the yard and upon one moocow Henrietta Decker, nee Bogglebottoms, who bursts with lactate and laconiac surmisions. She looks back wondering whose cud they chew.