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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Animal >> ID #855444 |
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In Milkman’s school, I learned to moo
And milk, and rake, and brush; I learned to like the sunrise sky… I fed the pigs their mush. Math was counting fresh-laid eggs And literature was sleeping. History? The Milkman’s tales And music, new-chick peeping. Gym class lasted all day long And foal’s first breath a science. Detention was a dirty chore; Farm justice for defiance. In Milkman’s school, I learned to write With paw, or hoof, and ink – The poetry of farming school is sweet, warm milk to drink.
© Copyright 2004 winklett (UN: winklett at Writing.Com).
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