Farmyard Antics 77 Poem by Phil Soar

Farmyard Antics 77



I strolled into a farmyard
One Sunday afternoon
It was quite late, I pushed the gate
By the light of a clear new moon
It was eerily quiet as darkness fell
When a pig began to squeal
It scared me to the depths of hell
And I shit myself for real

Friday, May 20, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: farm,fun
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