Round them up and sort them out
The cows go to the right,
Calves all go the other way.
Watch her, she wants to fight.
Check your count and don't miss one,
Sometimes the calves slip by.
"Use the gate to cut her off,"
The Boss says with a sigh.
Babies bawling through the fence
To see where Momma stands;
It's not so much they need them,
Fear drives their demands.
It's time for them to grow on up
And make it on their own.
They know how to eat the grass
Just like their Mom has shown
Them since they hit the ground
About half a year ago
When they were born into the cold,
And sometimes it would snow.
But, life's a cycle going 'round
And this is just a step
Along their earthly journey.
And now they will be kept
In a pen that's set aside
For such a time as this.
And even though she will be close
Their Momma will they miss
For a few days until they have found
That they no longer need
The nourishment that she provides
As they learn to eat their feed.
Very soon they won't depend
On Mom on whom they leaned
And one more time I'll smile and say,
"The calves have all been weaned."
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