Nine-Ninety-Nine

Hayden

I'm told it’s the cost of living,

that butter costs Nine-Ninety-Nine

yet my uncle slaved in a dairy shed,

making barely a dime.

So why is butter Nine-Ninety-Nine?

He hardly takes a break,

never time for his daughters,

missing Saturdays and Sundays–

just so butter can cost Nine-Ninety-Nine.

But like a knight of the old,

he risks life and limb,

riding a quad like a steed,

braving the rain with standard in hand.

Yet in many a rural town 

with names like Uruti, Eltham, or Kaponga

you hear stories muttered quietly

about sharemilkers found at peace

for they no longer needed a dime, nor lost any time

yet butter remains Nine-Ninety-Nine.