Farmyard Antics 112 Poem by Phil Soar

Farmyard Antics 112



I strolled into a farmyard
On a sweltering summers day
No sign of much activity
Like all had gone away
Yet off there in the distance
I spied a random sheep
Sitting on a deck chair
And almost fast asleep
The sun was beating down on him
No sign it would go dull
And he was just relaxing
While he grew a coat of wool

Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: farm
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