Farmyard Antics 151 Poem by Phil Soar

Farmyard Antics 151



I strolled into a Farmyard
Behind a herd of sheep
To find the farm hands lying down
All tired and fast asleep
The sheep were there for shearing
And stood in pens while bleating
But the farm hands were not hearing them
And the sheep wore central heating

Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: farmers,humour
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success