Making Eunuchs Poem by C H Sund

We raised baa baas for awhile
cash crop as Dad referred.
Great lawnmowers,
also tree trimmers, four feet up.
Grass or leaves in, pellet outs,
self generating green machines.
Dumb though, fenced, just in case.
Every spring the lambs arrived.
The ram, yeah he knew his thing.
And Dad would decide the day
that the boys had to lose their toys.
Can’t have boys fighting plus
they grow faster and get bigger
and of course sell for more; well
at least that’s the story told.
Our job, to grab the boys one at a time
and carry them to the ‘altar of eunuchdom’
where Dad awaited with his tools;
rubber bands, little green cheerios that
would stretch over a two inch funnel.
Well you probably can guess the rest.
Some took it well, others baaed in pain
and a few went to a corner and laid down.
A week or two later, everything shriveled
and was gone. I was always happy that
they were dumb, and couldn’t remember.
Yup, made a lot of eunuchs growing up.