Farmer Giles Poem by Chris Goss

Black spotted dogs racing their tails
My boots remain completely dry
I took such good pictures to avail
I wandered round a curved tree meadow
That reminded me of Morden Hall ago
The with my umbrella in tow
I decided to be farmer Giles eyeing his stock
As it was winter and he fretted for his flock
The rooks were policing his brooks
The bulls bad timing of rucks
Sometimes the farmers life sucks
Don't know why because he earns bucks
He does not pay his staff much
He just goes out to lunch too much
Holding his purse close also too much