©Jan Millward, 2018

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Vows.

June 28, 2017

 

It's Three O'clock in the morning,
and the vicar's on the phone.
He says there's a cow in his garden
and he doesn't think it's alone.

 

I stumble into the bed post
and grab the nearest top.
My leg is stuck in my knickers
and I'm doing a frantic hop.

 

I scream to my sleeping husband
who hasn't heard a thing;
“The cows are down at the rectory,
didn't you hear the phone ring?”

 

I'm trying to decide if I have time 
to nip to the loo for a wee,
but every second counts when
the cows are out on a spree.

 

The lights are on in the kitchen,
wellies are pulled on bare feet.
A woolly hat holds my hair down
and the image is complete.

 

We jump in the old farm landy,'
our teeth are all a chatter.
The frost shines bright in the headlights
and we bounce down the drive with a clatter.

 

Our brains are trying to wake up,
it feels like they're stuffed full of wool,
but when we round the next corner
we come face to face with the bull.

 

He lifts up his head and bellows,
we see eyes shining bright in the lights.
And right up behind is the vicar
looking like he's had a bad fright.


It seems that the bull had decided
that the heifers were hard to resist.
He'd broken the fence and jumped over
and they'd followed him into the mist.

 

Along comes the cowman and fiancée,
in pyjamas, wellies and jackets.
Wielding  small lengths of plastic
and making a hell of a racket.

 

The vicar does his best  to be helpful
and tries to make them turn back,
but the heifers have got their tails up
and disappear up a track.

 

Five O'clock in the morning,
it's too late to go back to bed.
So we all roll up in the kitchen
and cook up a breakfast instead.

 

Next month when the cowman got married,
when they were exchanging their vows.
The vicar asked if they'd promise
to always fence in their cows!
Jan Millward©

 

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