In this news article, That’s Farming shares poems about livestock marts.
Poem number one:
“In the early morning light,
The farmers gather in delight,
At the local livestock mart.
The auctioneer takes the stand,
With his gavel in his hand,
And begins the bidding war.
Cattle lowing, sheep bleating,
The farmers are all competing,
For the best price they can get.
The auctioneer’s voice booms through the air,
As the farmers gather from everywhere,
To buy and sell their livestock fair.
The smell of hay and manure,
Fills the air, a smell so pure,
A smell of life and livelihood.
The farmers come from miles around,
To buy and sell on this hallowed ground,
Where tradition lives and thrives.
The auctioneer’s gavel goes down,
As the farmers gather all around,
To see who will take the crown.
The bidding war is fierce and fast,
As the farmers try to outlast,
Their rivals in this game of chance.
The auctioneer’s voice is steady and strong,
As the prices rise and fall along,
In this dance of supply and demand.
The farmers nod and shake their heads,
As the prices rise and fall like tides,
In this dance of supply and demand.
And when the day is done,
And the last animal is gone,
The farmers leave with a sense of fun.
For they know they’ll be back again,
To this place where they are friends,
To the local livestock mart, where the bidding never ends.”
Poem number two:
“The auctioneer’s voice booms through the air,
As farmers gather from everywhere,
To buy and sell their livestock fair.
Cattle lowing, pigs squealing,
The farmers are all dealing,
In this place where the bids are reeling.
The auctioneer’s gavel goes down,
As the farmers gather all around,
To see who will take the crown.
The smell of hay and manure,
Is a smell that will endure,
A smell of life and nature pure.
The farmers come from far and wide,
To buy and sell with pride,
In this place where they can’t hide.
And when the day is done,
And the last animal is gone,
The farmers leave with a sense of fun.
For they know they’ll be back again,
To this place where they are friends,
To the local livestock mart, where the bidding never ends.”
Poem number three:
“The farmers gather at the mart,
To buy and sell with all their heart,
In this place where tradition reigns.
Cattle lowing, pigs squealing,
Sheep bleating, the farmers dealing,
In this place where the bids are reeling.
The auctioneer’s voice booms through the air,
As the farmers gather from everywhere,
To buy and sell their livestock fair.
The smell of hay and manure,
Is a smell that will endure,
A smell of life and nature pure.
The farmers come from far and wide,
To buy and sell with pride,
In this place where they can’t hide.
And when the day is done,
And the last animal is gone,
The farmers leave with a sense of fun.
For they know they’ll be back again,
To this place where they are friends,
To the local livestock mart, where the bidding never ends.”
Source – Snapchat
Previous articles on That’s Farming:
 shares poems about livestock marts/auctions in Ireland.){kind=link}