A poem by Edmund Vance Cooke 1903
I found this poem in Nana’s recipe box in the old Nova Scotia house. Tattered and yellowed, it made me laugh, and I have kept it on my bulletin board ever since.
THE MOO-COW-MOO
My Pa held me up to the moo-cow-moo,
So close I could almost touch,
An I fed him a couple of times or two,
An I wasn’t a ‘fraid-cat much.
But if my Pa goes into the house
An if my Momma goes too,
I jest keep still like a little mouse,
‘Cause the moo-cow-moo might moo.
The moo-cow-moo has a tail like a rope
And it’s ravelled down where it grows,
An it’s jest like feeling a piece of soap
All over the moo-cow’s nose.
The moo-cow-moo has lots of fun
Jest swingin’ his tail about,
But if he opens his mouth, I run,
‘Cause that’s where the moo comes out.
The moo-cow-moo has deers on its head
An his eyes bug out at their place,
An the nose of the moo-cow-moo is spread
All over the end of his face.
An his feet is nothin’ but fingernails
And his momma don’t keep ’em cut,
And he gives folks milk in water pails,
If he don’t keep his handles shut.
‘Cause if you or me pulls them handles, why,
The moo-cow-moo says it hurts,
But our hired man he sets close by,
An squirts, an squirts, an squirts.
Cooke was born in Port Dover, Ontario in 1866 and became a beloved inspirational poet. This little gem apparently ran in the Saturday Evening Post in 1903. Between 1894 and 1926, he published 16 books of poetry, and he became known also for reading his poetry on a Detroit radio station. He died in Cleveland Ohio in 1932.
Aww, this is a cute one tks for sharing !
It was worth working through all the bits and pieces in that old recipe box!
I have a moo cow
a new cow,
A true cow
named Caroline…
from ‘Gypsy’
I memorized this poem when I was about 8 years old, though not sure why. Perhaps I needed a “memory selection,” as my public school called memorizing and reciting a poem in front of the class. Wish I could remember exactly why and when. My beloved parents are no longer on this side of the grass, so I can’t ask them. If they were still alive, they’d both be 110 years old now.
My aunt and uncle (and their 4 children–my cousins) lived on a dairy farm. So I spent considerable time around cows (Brown Swiss) as a kid, when my family visited on weekends. I was even allowed to try my hand at milking one once, under my uncle’s supervision (I failed miserably). It was a big deal when Uncle John bought and began using electric milkers.
I’m now 70, and this poem, in its entirety, popped back into my head a week ago as I was walking from the parking lot to the music school where I teach (Chicago’s Old Town School of Folk Music)–how bizarre, but how wonderful! Hadn’t thought of it since I was probably in single digits. I instantly called one of my brothers and asked if he remembered it, too. He did. Oh, JOY!!!!!
Rosemary, Thank you so much for commenting! I am so glad you remember this poem and that it was here for you to find. I have always loved it, ever since my Aunt Marion shared it with me. I was probably about 8 at the time too. But any age is a good age for this poem. Best wishes to you and your family for a very happy Christmas.
My grandmother used to recite this to her many grandchildren. We loved it. This brings back beautiful memories.
What a lovely thing! Thanks for letting me know, Lauren.