Farmyard Antics 34 Poem by Phil Soar

Farmyard Antics 34



I strolled into a farmyard
Where the air was rather choice
The farmer greeted me with such a strange and flustered voice
It seemed that he could hardly breathe
From the smell of cow manure
It's something you don't get used to
And your throat gets rather sore

Friday, February 19, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: farm,fun,nonsense
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