Poetry Pleases: A Rural Lot Is Not A Happy One
The young farmers smell like silage bins and an ewe is munching its way through the vegetables... Glen Taylor casts an amused and affectionate eye on New Zealand's rural scene.
"Leave your old boots by the door,
I’ve just finished washing that floor.
There’s mud everywhere and you don’t seem to care,
And get your old coat off my chair.
"What d’ya mean?" "Where’s the dogs tucker?"
"You left it beside my old cooker?."
"Well sorry I’ve got news for you,
You ate it in the Irish stew."
"The shearers are coming on Wednesday?"
"Well, sorry, the old Shiela's away.
So when they get hungry and stroppy,
Send them down to the new takeaway."
"Young farmers meet here next year."
"Forget it mate, oh no, no fear.
They just come and empty my tins,
And smell like old silage bins."
"Oh, by the way, meant to say,
My mother is coming to stay.
So put that old ram on a line,
You know what happened last time."
"And that fat ewe that trails after you
And makes such a mess and ‘to do ‘.
If it’s in my vegies once more,
It’ll learn what mint sauce is for.’
"Will you just look at my car.
I cleaned it to pick up my ma.
Why didn’t you take the old ute?
What’s that bleating inside my boot?"
"Oh, diddums, what have we here?
Didn’t mum want you my dear?
Oh come here my precious wee lamb.
Let’s get you fed quick as we can.
"Did that silly old man shut you up?
Well just let your mum pick you up.
"Well what are you stood grinning for?
Get a move on and open the door."
