A mother looks on

A calf on the ground
In obvious pain
A labouring idiot
Surely insane
Punches it’s ears
Replaces a tag
Castrates the baby
One in the bag
For anyone watching
The mother looks on
Fearful and worried
Watched His testicles gone

Rolling on the grass
The courage of Job
Trembling slightly
Blood dripped from each lobe
Self preservation
Watchful was she
At his careless attention
and apathy

Babies unfortunately
Have no idea
It’s face bore a blankness
From ear to ear
These labouring types
Such vulgarity
Honest to goodness.
Obscenity

As dull as a bucket
Of cow dung and grass
So uninspiring
Out of his class
Testicles sore
Ear oles sore too
A burden of Stress
An annoyance all through.