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The fires are blazing by the rails,
The brands are glowing red,
Though dark are still the cattle trails
And stars are overhead;
And there’s a tumult in the yard,
A chorus in the pen,
For mustering days are long and hard
On cattle, steeds and men.
The calves are scruffed by nimble hands,
Amid the dust and din,
And with the reek of scaring brands
The morning light creeps in;
And up and down, and to and fro,
They scruff and sit and kneel—
Three hundred nuggets strong to throw
Before the morning meal.
Swift to the uproar come the crows
To add their carrion cries;
Upon the caps they wait in rows
Until the firelight dies.
The clamor of a thousand dams,
Their night-long vigil o’er,
Is stilled as back the barrier slams,
And out the young ones pour.
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