Extending my sleeves past my frozen fingers,
it is -3 and handles of anything
get extremely bitter this time of year.
I fork in splinters of silage
#235 pokes her head out through the feeder.
I have plans for you Missy Moo —
well: our progeny.
Provided you’re in calf;
provided you stay in calf;
provided you calf down successfully;
provided it lives long enough to be killed.
If not, I’ll probably sell you
and buy an in-calf heifer instead.
You don't get it,
it will be too late when you do,
I'll be gone,
you'll be stuck like glue.
Give and take,
this is half game,
you know what they say,
no pain no gain.
Hopefully this will make you learn,
to grow and expand,
if you dont,
who knows where you will land.
The landing could be soft,
and easy to bear,
or it could be hard,
and you won't know who to hear.
This is my only plead,
the only form in which I can speak,
I just want you to realize,
unless you help yourself with me gone, you'll be weak.