March 12, 2012

 

 

The corn fed chicken was free to roam

The farmyard paths that it called home .

 

The greedy pig used to like to scoff,

All the rubbish that was in the trough.

 

The gaggle of geese would stand so proud

But when they spoke, my god, they were loud.

 

The resident sheepdog was ever so bright,

He was the only one to see the light.

 

 Old MacDonald had long since died,

‘Not before time,’ his wife she sighed.

 

The children had gone to pastures new

But the cows still stood  and sang with a moo.

 

The little old donkey in the far off grass

Backed up to the fence to scratch his ass.

 

The buttercups swayed in the gentle breeze

As the cat sat scratching away at its fleas.

 

Life seemed good – It was a normal day

As the farmhand romped away in the hay.

 

 

 

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