(All poems at this website are the copyrighted property of Tom Allen.
Permission to print for individual use is granted.)

THE RESCUE MISCUE(176KB)

One day with Papa, while milk'n our cows,
Before my chores were over;
He said ol' Polly seemed sick a bit,
From eat'n some new Spring Clover.

I handed him the thermometer,
While tend'n the milk'n pail;
He wiped it clean and inserted it,
Just beneath ol' Polly's tail.

Then with milkers to switch, he looked at me,
A sterness in his eye;
He challenged me to protect the glass,
Should things begin to fly.

My carry'n bucket now full of milk,
I walked backward toward the door;
While think'n on Papa's orders,
Not to let it hit the floor.

I then hurried into the other room,
Manuver'n bucket smooth as silk;
And quick as gravity would let me,
Thru the strainer, poured the milk.

Then like a rabbit, I hurried back,
When horror met my eyes;
For Polly had started to relieve herself,
With tail lifted toward the skies.

There was no time to devise a plan,
Or even to ask advice;
I dropped the bucket and took a knee,
Without even think'n twice.

Alas, my timing was most fortunate,
With hands both opened wide;
Yes, I caught the entire droppage,
And felt real warm with pride.

It's then that I heard strong laugh'n,
And saw Papa 'gainst the wall;
He'd been there, I guess just out of sight,
It seems he'd seen it all.

I looked at him and questioned why,
Hadn't I saved it from certain doom;
Then he showed the glass thermometer,
Obtained... with me in the other room!