To A Weanling Calf

The black weanling white face calf looks glum He has lately lost his mum The farmer sold her at the mart And left him with a heavy heart. His mother a blue friesian cow She is surely dead by now We the human kind will eat From a tin his mother's meat. For the creature I feel sad He is taking it so bad He miss a kind and loving mother And the warm milk from her udder. Weanling there's no need to low Your poor mother had to go Your mother had been getting old And that's the reason she was sold. It doesn't matter anyway With your dam you could not stay This is the Autumn of the year And therefore weaning time is here. Son of a red white face sire Your mother calved you in the byre I remember the day you were born 'Twas on a wild and wet March morn. I watched as you drew your first breath Your hair was slimy and wet And then I heard your first weak cry As your mother licked you dry. You seemed like a drunken lout As you staggered all about And your excited mum was bawling As you were rising and falling. Then you struggled to the udder Of a very happy mother And enjoyed the first feastings Of your mother's rich fresh beestings In the sunny Summer time When the days were long and fine On mother's milk you were flourishing It was sweet tasting and nourishing. But the good times do not last And the Summer now is past Without your mother you must do You will forget her in a week or two. You've got the predominant friesian colour black On your legs and on your back And as for the big white face That belong to hereford race. Unlike us the human kind There's little knowledge in your mind You don't realize there is an end But there is my weanling friend. Death to you will also call Someday in a butcher stall They will shoot you through the head And 'alas' you will be dead.