Every year they pull me from my field and put me here.
Every year, the same orders.  "Lie down in that straw,
be quiet, except for some gentle lowing.  Remember,
you're not the star here, He is",  the boss said pointing
to a Baby lying in a feeding trough.

You see, I am, by nature, an ox 
and by profession a beast of burden.  
All year I work my ass off (just
kidding, Ass is a friend of mine) from sun up to dark,
rain or shine pulling plows and breeding.

Then, just like that, I am lying around with nothing
to do but twich my ears, swat flies with my tail and
be a pastoral background in some annual religious tableau.
This sudden break of routine allows 
time to reflect on my life, to hear
what my body is saying as it ages with aches and pains,
to ruminate on my failings, to feel gratitude and to
consider my future.

I long to cut back on my work.
I long to mentor younger oxen.
I long to have a life with less drama
    and be not afraid of breaking commitments.
The kids are almost grown and out of the barn
    My wife and I are now left to look
    each other in the eye.
I worry about having enough to eat in my golden years.
I worry about my health holding up.
Ah, but life is good.

Before I know it, they're breaking down the stable scene
and taking me back to my burdensome furrows. 
I can't stop thinking 
I've been hanging around humans too much.
I wonder about that Baby and what His life will be like.
Are we all beasts of burden
   or breeders?