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Here is an old poem written by a guy who is more than likely a relative of mine. I never knew him, but I bet Liberty Belle could tell me about him. It was taken out of a book written locally. I always think of it about his time of the year. Could also be thought of as Calving time, but anyone who has shed lambed a bunch of sheep will relate.

Lambing Time
by Buck Lyons

Oh, the ewes are getting heavy
And the grass is greener then
And you never felt no finer
Since you can't remember when

So you start the daily routine
And your always on the run,
Suckling lambs and hauling water
And it gol'dang sure ain't fun!

And you say "No more next year.
I won't have to tow the line."
But springtime rolls around again
You'll be there, it's lambing time!

There is just one consolation
That we lamb hands now can tell,
When we die, we'll go to heaven
Because we've done our hitch in Hell.
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