Poem Hunter
SJM ( / )


Whatever happened to Curly?

No one knew
But his days
Were numbered,
Just a few.

Broke his pizzle stick
That’s for sure
And before it’d been
Broken in, good and quick.

They put him in the chute
To keep him calm - That’s a hoot.
For as soon as Curly saw what’s in store
He cried out, “Please Doc, No More.”

Down on his knees
He fell and pleaded,
It hurts and now you’ve
Got it bleed’n.

The doc thought, then said
“It’s looking bad,
I can fix it but it’ll cost a lot
Five grand, on the spot.”

Well he’s a good one
But no use,
Cause without a good stick,
Keep’n him, there’s no excuse.

Back to the group of assembled
He went without any

Knowing his days are numbered
And he’ll be called up yonder.
You may find a bit of hope
For old Curly.

But his fate is no joke
He’ll wind up like others before,
Joining his like kind
On the slaughter house floor.

Curly - The best bull I ever had
Is no more.


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