I am watching them churn the last milk they'll ever get
from me.
They are waiting for me to die;
They want to make buttons out of my bones.
Where are my sisters and brothers?
That tall monk there, loading my uncle, he has a new cap.
And that idiot student of his—
I never saw that muffler before.
Poor uncle, he lets them load him.
How sad he is, how tired!
I wonder what they'll do with his bones?
And that beautiful tail!
How many shoelaces will they make of that!
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In the beginning, I pictured a yak, being so easily disposed of, knowing they'll use his bones to make buttons, and asking for his brothers and sisters. I am not sure about the monk or his student, but after, it seems that his kin are watching him get loaded, dead, into what vehicle will transport him into another form of yak. Not knowing, and feeling dismay for their uncle. Seems sad, but I do not really grasp the point, unless it is that everything gets recycled, one way or another. Nothing is disposable, only expendable.
Peace
Chris
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