FERAL

 

FERAL … Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBarkPoet

 

He had a set of wicked horns – that topped his battered face

the sweep of them was wide and curved – he fought with no disgrace

and saw off the defeated with a bellow loud and long.

He pawed the earth with cloven hoof, still defiant and strong.

 

The young stud sad, defeated – lived to fight another day

his strength had been o’erridden by the tactics put in play

by the old bull who’d been round a while and knew a trick or two

to protect his herd, of usurpers he took quite a dim view.

 

But sad to say he had no chance when mustering time came.

He ran through scrub and gidgee with the helicopters aim

right upon him – driving him relentlessly into the clear

where the bull catchers were waiting – with their evil grasping gear.

 

One hit him in the left side hard enough to knock him down

where he tumbled in a cloud of dust skidding along the ground.

Dazed and tired to exhaustion – lolling tongue swollen by thirst

he had not the strength to get up and his heart beat fit to burst.

 

Two ringers then jumped on him – tied his legs with leather hide

sawed his horns off and then roped him to a pulley.  To a slide

they dragged his massive body to the waiting cattle truck

now his fate was sad decided – One scrub bull – right out of luck.

 

His life would soon be over – torture and sadness the game

he was beaten and downtrodden, his cunning they overcame.

He was trucked along with others to the meatworks in the town

and no doubt his final moments were not worthy of his crown.

 

Just one more captured for slaughter, just one for the killing floor.

Just a beast without a name who no one cared for – none there saw

in his eyes the fear and terror and none cared about his pain

he was one, just one of many that were part of our food chain.

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edpUruTQbTY