Sunday 18th May 2014
C. J. Black
It was it must be said a dull and dreary day
A soft day thank God the farmer he did say
He knew by my stare I wasn’t much well pleased
He took a quick step backwards as into my handkerchief I sneezed.
Your flower garden, now in full bloom
Do my sinuses no good when they decorate a room
You city folk, really are so much alike
If I wasn’t a polite country gent I’d tell you take a hike.
Born and reared to till the land and keep food on your table
Is my only claim to fame I’ll continue as long as I’m able
Do holiday in the country if that is your desire
I’ll work my fingers to the bone until the day I die, while you head for your condominium in the sun as soon as you retire.
It’s not sour grapes on my part this I’ll have you know
I am happy on the land once I can reap and sow
But city folk like you can’t but criticise
You’ll be old before your time, but when will you be wise?
It’s great to have the banter and to chew the cud
But the carryon of some folk is enough to boil the blood
I’m heading in for supper now the kettles on the boil
Looking skyward to the heavens – he said you know it’s true
You never need a time piece when nature tells you what to do
Eggs and hairy bacon, fresh vegetables from the soil
You’re more than welcome to join me, we can break bread together
Me casa you casa even though we’re birds of a different feather.
C. J. Black©β
Sunday, 18 May 2014