Farmyard Antics 108 Poem by Phil Soar

Farmyard Antics 108



Those farmyard smells that waft across the fields
As farmers try to improve all their yields
Can set your throat on fire and make you gag
Like someone held your farts inside a bag
So maybe we should give the fields some space
And not let all those smells drift by our face

Thursday, August 4, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: funny
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