Out in the Yorkshire Dales,
Endowing the countryside with charms,
Over hills and through vales,
Are the world-famous termite farms.
Yorkshire dairies are without cow,
They much prefer the termite.
They don't need as big a meadow,
And their milk tastes like marmite.
Sheep no longer roam,
Replaced by the woolly termite.
It's covered in a warm foam,
and is usually water-tight.
For their fine pelt and marbled meat,
For being friendly and socialised,
For their smooth silk and enormous feet,
Termites are highly prized.
One man and his dog can herd,
Ten million termites in a single day.
Unless the termites are eaten by a bird,
And with them a month's pay.
Economies of scale are easy to support,
With five thousand square miles of mounds.
Termites are Yorkshire's greatest export,
Or that's the story doing the rounds.
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Comments about this poem (Yorkshire Dales by Sebastian Seal )
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