Farmyard Antics 161 Poem by Phil Soar

I strolled into a farmyard
It had been hot for weeks
The farmer was dry, and so was I
He would croak whenever he speaks
The water butts were empty
The taps were as dry as hell
It was the worst since 1920
A really summer spell
But just as we were lost for words
The clouds began to fill
And the heat that had been so absurd
Was no longer hot and still
I got out my umbrella
And waited for the rain
But then the clouds all burnt away
And the sun came out again!