This is the saga of 'Old Minnie's' farm,
the tale and estate are both humble.
Old clapboard cottage in dire need of paint,
and a barn roof ready to buckle.
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The farm was the home of many a beast;
and while each had a story to tell.
Worn out Minnie had no time for fables;
for she saw to each tiresome detail.
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The fields bore more thistle than timothy,
fertilizer is hard to disperse.
Yet without it the hayfield's lie barren.
Near as barren as Old Minnie's purse.
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An ancient grey mare labored with Minnie,
to harvest what weeds they could gather.
Tansy by name; worked from morning to night,
she too was in no mood for chatter.
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Bertha the milk-cow produced every year.
Farmer Wesselhoeft loaned out his bull.
With boney old frame, and nearly bald hide,
she'd no time to gab with her mouth full.
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The old sow Drucilla bore young each year,
and kept meat on poor Minnie's table.
She'd shed a tear as her young disappeared,
slept at night in old Tansy's stable.
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The hens had each other for company,
there were far too many to mention.
When Minnie came gathering 'offerings',
they'd all cluck as they stood at attention.
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Poor as the church mice and yet they survived,
at end of the day they had plenty.
For each had a place and each had a part,
working together as family.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem