When being, how many years later?
The same shadow on your wall it stands hard in work.
And at the center of your room travelling it has traveled,
which is long, the house, sits upon forty acres.
The mule by your side in and out of the room is my pet.

You hyperventilate when we come, I watch you breathe.
Calling out for you to obtain, together they whisper.
You it does not own at all.
The visitor it sees,
how it rises and plants go into the ground, cotton flags.
Which is declared to the sunny side of the hill which often it is.
We did not belong to you under any condition.
We were not found under any condition.
That was roundabout way but always we came when you called.

Is It Poetry

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mule-and-forty-acres/