winter’s early dusk
And the rows of critters’ noses, damp with
breath as sweet as musk,
Toss and tease me from the tie-up—ain’t a job
that suits me more
Than the feedin’ of the cattle—that’s the reg’-
lar wind-up chore.
When I grain ’em or I meal ’em—wal, there’s
plenty in the bin,
And I give ’em quaker measure ev’ry time I