My Horn

Imagine if you can a very sad horn
All alone in the prickly thorns
Imagine a cow sadly now dead
Its horns resting in a dry creek bed
Imagine it clean like a snow white dove
Screwed on wood and made with my love
Imagine the horns are the soul of the cow
Imagine, imagine how happy it is now
Imagine it lives on a book shelf at my home
No longer sadly dead and no longer alone
Imagine it lives with me a while
When I see it I can’t help but smile