I walk abroad
And saw a red faced farmer
I stop to speak
'The thistledowns flying
On the green grass,
The spring from the fountain
Bubbles red hot,
The fields glitter
Bright in the sun,
The rivers burn gold
Liquid in the air,
The ground... WHOA
Hang on mate
Said the farmer
Don't blame me
It's not my fault
I just work here!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem