Donkey

Here I am awaiting patiently,
Standing here in the grainy mud,
For a phone call that still hasn't come,
I stare at the phone booth,
With my shaggy mane waving in the wind,
I look through the smugged glass,
And see the phone sitting there still,
On top, the word telephone is stamped in crisp white letters,
I hear the cows grazing in the sweet smelling grass,
Just freshly cut,
But the phone still doesn't sound,
The roof of the barn is glistening,
Making it hard to see,
I whip my tail to keep the flies away,
But still, the phone doesn't call to me.