Cattle Guard by Craig Millman When greener pastures beckon it's Cattle Guard, I reckon' that keeps old Bessie quite composed in territory predisposed. Tiny little hooves get stuck in the grooves. If only they were more adroit upon each iron slat they'd tread. They'd make quick on their escape if keener powers blossomed in bovine head. Cattle would roam free throughout the land. It'd be grand. From the tip of Maine to the Southwest Coast livestock would roam unbridled pastures, the land their home. They'd caress the earth with cloven feet. "We are free," they'd sing, "free!" When next you pass a pasture yard, give poor Gernseys some regard for what might be if not for Cattle Guard.