The Wayward Calf by Grace Fleming


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As the wind was blowing, blowing
On an early August morn
Came a sound of lowing, lowing
And a baby cow was born

And the calf, he asked its mother
“Will you tell me who I am?”
“You were made to love another
As the ewe will love the lamb.”

But the calf kept growing, growing
And the Winter chilled and tore
Soon he wanted knowing, knowing
If his life was meant for more

So the calf, he asked a milkmaid
“Will you tell me who I am?”
“You must daily work your body
To give me butter with my jam.”

But the sky was snowing, snowing
And he longed so much to be
Where the grass was showing, showing
And where he could graze freely

So the calf, he asked a butcher
“Will you tell me who I am?”
“You must grow up fat and healthy
So that my children also can.”

So he started going, going
Which way the wind would steer
Toward horizons glowing, glowing
Until a man in red appeared

Then the calf, he asked the matador
“Will you tell me who I am?”
“You were made for one thing only
To be willed or killed by man.”

But there was someone mowing, mowing
When the sunrise light revealed
His own farm hello, hello-ing
With his Farmer and his field

At last, the calf, he asked his Farmer
“Will you tell me who I am?”
“You were made to love another
As the ewe will love the lamb.”