The Cattle Winds of September

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

The poem of September cattle winds

Submitted: August 14, 2018

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Submitted: August 14, 2018



Lord, I can smell the cattle winds

Grandma stepped in pasture pies

The old tornado shelter is crying

The winter frost must be lying

Please go on, and bless this harvest

The Old Pastor raises his hands

The Promised Land must be certain

Across the plains, dustbowl and

Iron Curtain

Oh Lord, Bless our land and make it whole

Bless the recession ending and the

Wild youth and gambling spending

End the destruction of addiction

End poverty, wars, and affliction

We need fresh fruit and sweet land

Milk, honey, bacon and eggs

Sausage, potatoes, in the pan

The cattle winds are winds of change

Dirty rotten eggs 

Smell like a hurricane

Destruction is always around

When you hear the tornado sound 

Let us get back to basics

Hard work, America and the tractor

Good jobs, labor, employment

And the high school graduation


Let us all love this place

Work in the fields

And dirty our face

Fresh land, tomato plants

Milkweed and the butterfly

Eternal promises and

Jesus in the sky

Oh Lord, I can smell the

Cattle winds of September

Cold Octobere rain on

Bison shoulders 


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