The other side of the fence

The grass really does look greener on the other side of the fence, they say it’s really not but at least there’s a lot more of it. I gaze across the vast plains thru strands of barbed wire at the huge fireball in the sky; I watch it as it slowly disappears behind the horizon. I wonder where it goes. How I long to gallop across this lush green sea of grass, how I long to see where the sun beds down for the night. But here I am trapped inside this fence. Sometimes I dream of getting a running start and jumping over the western fence and galloping into the sunset, but I always stutter step just short of jumping. What if I trip? Besides I have grass to eat here and an old bathtub full of water to drink, and an old Guernsey named Betsey to keep me company and every Friday Farmer Joe dumps a bale of hay over the fence with the forks on his tractor for me and Betsey. I have everything I need here and I am comfortable. Oops I stepped in Betsey’s’ crap again.