CRACKER LE BLANC

Le Blanc, Le Blanc,
I hear your voice,
It resounds through this grove,
And through its thinkness,
Across this field of corn
Fields of yams,
Fields of cane,
For I am but a farmer,
A servant to the land,
You tend to your cattle,
That graze upon the open land
Neath the tall loblolly pines,
That grace this majestic prairie,
That stands west of the grove,
And across the fields,
I hear the sweetness of your call,
Your cattle call, a ta ya, a ta ya,
Come a ta ya, a ta ya,
Here come a ta ya, a ta ya,
That only a French tongue can speak,
I hear the crack of your whip,
Braided of the finest leather,
By your great grandfather,
Who first brought cattle to this range,
As you drive your cattle,
Cross the hammocks,
That form the bottom land,
Of this Sabine land,
And through the Baygual, of hardwoods,
Here upon the open grassland,
You Le Blanc, are a tender of cattle,
Here in Acadie,  our home,
And I hear the sweetness of your call,
And the crack of that ancient whip,
A ta ya,  A ta ya,
Come a ta ya, here a come a ta ya,
Come you bovines,
Let's get through this grove,
To where the grass is sweet,
So I can get home to Lorrine,
Her supper is to be eat,
Come a ta ya, here come a ta ya..

written 1998, Santa Rosa, CA
published oct 27...17...