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Farmers Poem

 

Farmers are our armors against hunger,

People who collect veggies and fruits, Not people who are posh or dress in suits.

We use them to our advantage And don't consider their heritage.

Farmers are our singers of nature, People who are underpaid, They are the people who should have a parade.

They pick our every grain, With dedication, sweat, and pain.

Farmers, we picture them as...

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The Shed

Hanging in the shed

Are four dead pheasants and a woodcock

 

On a makeshift table

Some half-eaten sandwiches and a thermos

 

A drab green waterproof

Hangs on a nail above some boots and drips

 

The man sits talking to a friend

And rubbing his damp hair with an old towel

 

Outside dogs are sniffing around the cars

Ignoring the rain one man is hunched over his ...

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