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Poem

My brother and I walk the south pasture on an early spring day,
The warmth of spring slowly melting, the cold of winter away.
The golds of old growth are broken by the green of new,
And we are drifting in dreams, though we have work to do.
Gathering the cows for milking, we allow Father Time to pass by,
When a shadow in the barbed wire catches my brother’s eye.
We run through the stubble of last season allowing dreams to lead, 
Shaped by childhood stories which we had seen and read.
The cries draw us near where she hangs, limply as if half dead.
Each barb is cutting deeply. She slowly bleeds the earth red.
The life within her still pulsing its unbreakable bond
We make a solemn vow, a promise, to the crying, broken fawn.
Freeing her from her prison, we discover she is too weak,
She cannot stand or fight, has lost the force of her instinct.
My brother lifts her to his chest and orders me to go on.
For the chore of our cow gathering still must be done.

Miles between us and home, they trudge, a child with a child
Him dreaming of what will be when we tame the wild.
The weight of the burden breaks him and he falls to his knees.
Looks to the heavens for strength, but there is only me.
Her hooves drag along beside and I cradle her in my arms -
The weight of her pulling me downward, and yet I struggle on.
We entrust her to the dancing shadows of the oak tree in the yard,
And beg our mother for help but her motto is “Life is hard.
The veterinarian is more than we can spend. Milking still needs done.
Wild animals should be left to nature and the course which it will run.”
With a child’s gesture of love, we leave her and gather grain.
The labor of farm children - as essential as the rain.
(There is a Part 2 which can be found on my page.)

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