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!”
