Broremann the Farmhand

Broremann, the farmer worker. 

Every morning at five thirty sharp, my brother Broremann 
had to milk five cows by hand bring bucket full of goodness
to the scullery where maid sifted it and in a churn it went.
He had to start milking Rose first, she was the mother cow
other cows wouldn´t give milk unless he started with her.
After milking Broremann had to clean the barn five cows 
make a lot of dung; he pushed it down in a hole in the wall
it was later used to fertilize the land. My brother was proud 
of his ability to milk and his hands were, firm yet gentle. 
There was a problem though Rose didn´t yield as much milk
as before as she was getting elderly and the farmer sold her
to the knacker’s yard. It was a sad day and the other cows 
mooed woefully. The farmer bought a new cow to take Rosa´s
place, but Broremann couldn´t milk her first, as she was new-
comer, so he started with Gerda, now the oldest cow, and milk 
the new one last, thus rural peace continued in the cow shed.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

Poem

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Culverhouse Avatar
September 14, 2012 at 7:31 AM
funny thoughts...
Hansen Avatar
September 14, 2012 at 9:07 AM
thank you doris
Collins Avatar
September 12, 2012 at 8:46 AM
and on and on dear Jan. Lovely metaphor, and as for Boremann. love, Kathy
Hansen Avatar
September 12, 2012 at 9:26 AM
thank you Kathy
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