Yay! Here is the first entry for my bloggiversary contest, details of which you can see by scrolling down a bit to October 2. This one is a poem by Phil of Introspection's Lair, and Calgary, where they have many cows:

Calving Season

‘Twas the witching hour
Of a cold February night
The wind would make any man dour
The chill would seep his might

In my father’s coat
I rode the great Ram
In the snow it could float
It would pull any dram

‘Twas a 4 x 4
The grey hulking thing
Through the field it would roar
In diesel octaves sing

Outside snarled the blizzard
Through which I would trek
And though it blew terrible hard
Ne’ertheless, cows I did check

For ‘twas a task of mercy
For patent motherhood
In wind-chill minus forty
Exposed, outside, the cattle stood

And life’s little miracle
Would often thus begin
Into this howling debacle
Calves quietly slipt’ in-

-to this harsh chilly world,
And heard their mother’s lows
Anxious frosty breath curled
And mixed with fatal snows

I stepped off the great beast
Over drift, fence and into corral
And sought a small sign, the least!
Of new life in this cold hell.

And lo, I did indeed see
Weak wet and shivering
A tiny new calf in the lee
Of the wild wind moaning


I knew what to do, exactly
I grabbed the calf sled
Thus my father taught me
I pulled towards a warm bed

The precious new cargo
And behind me was the mother
Worried, she would bellow
As we neared the barn’s cover

We came out of winter’s frosty maw
Into warm heated air
The barn smelled of fresh straw
It smelled righteous fair

Under the heat lamp in the pen
I briskly rubbed the calf
With bunches of straw in hand, then
Stepped back, let mother do her half

And care for her new baby
I had done all I could
I pulled the calf to safety
With pride there I stood

I knew I did a good job
On this cold lonely night
No calf’s life it would rob
Since I did my job right

Now it was back to bed
Safe from the frozen night
I could rest my own head
And wake to morning’s light