The farm hand
Stacking bales so high
More than enough for winter
She puts the saddle on with effort and grace
Fingertips touch between splinters
The labourers extended sigh
Eye´s catch the tan.
You can´t joy ride through the confines of the farm
Any old tristful goose can have a career
Broken bed´s inadequate shelter
Converse accompanied by folly´s silly right arm
Instinct simply doesn´t know how to steer
This tractor that belonged to her
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