Farmyard Antics 45 Poem by Phil Soar

Farmyard Antics 45



I strolled into a farmyard
The fields were being ploughed
I couldn't hear a bloody thing
The decibels were loud
Tractors churning up the ground
Birds flew round in groups
Making such an awful sound
And eating worms like soup

Friday, March 4, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: farm,fun,nature
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