When repairing a fence, frustration abounds.

Beginning a career, ranching the goal

Commencing from scratch, I knew would be hard.

“Repair the fence, and start now!” I was told.

The hole almost done, the spudbar was jarred.


A rock! I exclaimed with heavy dismay.

Exhausted and mad, I dropped to my knee.

Remove the stone by hand: the only way,

I pulled and grunted ‘til the slab came free.


The goldenrod was next, stretch the line tight,

So gingerly I worked the brittle wire,

When, Ping! it snapped. My response not polite.

To build fence, I think, is not my desire.


I uttered a curse, the work gone amuck

The dirty F word (not that) simply, “Fence!”

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