Classic Poem

About the water hole, half dried,
The restless cattle weary eyed,
Watching dark omens in the skies,
Stir up the choking dust that settles
Upon them with the flies
That sting like nettles.

No shelter lifts where they may go.
Far hazy hills in ragged row
Are out where trails on distance break;
And cattle group and mill together
With rumps now hunched to take
The lashing weather.

Sparse pasture cannot lure them back
Along the plain while lightnings crack
Long whips of flame the clouds writhe from.
Though something tells them to beware it,
The cattle tense and dumb
Must stay and bear it.