When winter rendered our
Dad turned to these some call cactus curse.
A fire built of what was called the cow chip,
Thorns he burned away while winds whip.
There was no fire department on the prairie,
Dad didn't worry, he was vigilant and wary.
The fire built on the rocks lining stream bed
A blaze going with water and rock fed.
Cattle munched the cactus as delicacy,
A curse became tasty, certainly less sticky.
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