Cattle on the Road
They’re not made for plans.
Young Dougal, he’ll push things along--
but no quicker for your groans.
He has his own swearwords.
He'll pass by, eventually,
reminding you of his father,
mother, grandfather, all shouting,
growling down the drover’s road.
If you have any comments on this poem, Seth Crook would
be pleased to hear from you.