king of the highlands

slant sun slats on dying snow
thawed air pungent over mud and grasses 
where five big highlands gnaw a stack of hay
one golden outlier 50 paces off looks on

Janet leads us over 
to Cinnamon Bear 
king of the hill 
and he rises slow and heavy 
like a mountain grows 
looks at me with his bronze eye
framed by prize-winning horn 
holding the whole twentieth century 
in tranquility 

atop his hill he’ll tell it all with a glance
if you pay a visit
saturday i’ll thank him and his family
for a dear friend's slow roast