Three Thirty in the Morning

Three Thirty in the morning

Not a soul in sight

The pasture's looking like a ghost town

On a Moonless fall night

Phone call on my cell phone

There's a problem out there

There eating neighbors flower fields 

Where they never should have been

And the cattle roam

And the cattle roam

Every Flashlights roamin

In a flower field not mine

They rush out to herd them 

Thankful their alive

But those damn cows just 

Run and play 

Throwing flowers all around

And the butcher's called

And the butcher's called

Some how Garth Brooks song keep going through my head while we were in the pasture.  I hope he doesn't mind me butchering his wonderful lyrics with my own.