Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, April 9, 2018

Ignorance


It’s possible, or so I’m told,
For all of us, e’en wise and old,
To know a lot of topics bold,
And nothing much of others.

And so today, I’ll illustrate,
Perhaps I can elucidate,
How knowledge can be, here, first-rate,
While, there, less than another’s.

A city slicker full of charm,
Stopped one day at a large sheep farm,
Gave compliments meant to disarm,
While speaking to the shepherd.

Then wanting to assert his worth,
That he was smarter from his birth,
As proved by clothes and width of girth,
And big words, language peppered.

And so he said, “I’ll count your sheep!
Cause I could do it in my sleep,
And my high reputation, keep,
For being so much wiser.”

"And for my talents, one, I’ll take,
With him, my own herd, I will make,
Or maybe in an oven, bake,
He’ll be an appetizer."

The farmer said, “Please go ahead,
And add the figures in your head,
Your words do not fill me with dread,
Let’s see your smarts! Yes, really.”

The ‘Slicker’ yawned, then smugly smiled,
And looked the pasture o’er a while,
He said, “My figure, I’ve compiled,
Though conditions weren’t ideal-ly.”

“Four hundred sheep, plus thirty-two,
There, I have shown my ‘smarts’ to you,
And now a sheep I will accrue.”
He grabbed one. Started walking.

The farmer said, “I know that I,
Can see that you are one smart guy,
But if, from shoes to smart bow tie,
I guess your occupation . . .”

“Could we try doubling-or-naught?
I’d like to give my smarts a shot,
And see if your goose can be caught,
And stop me from deflation.”

The ‘Slicker’ smirked. “This, I must see.”
Said farmer. “It occurs to me.
 An accountant, you must surely be!
It’s obvious to me, too.”

The ‘Slicker’ gaped. “How did you know?
You really have dealt me a blow.”
The farmer smiled, “I’m not that slow,
Put down my dog, I’ll tell you.”














Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin,
With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?
So Jenny and Delores, we,
Now post our poems for you to see.
And when you’ve read what we have brought,
Did we help? Or did we not . . .

Next week, come back, cause here's the thing,
The three of us will tackle SPRING!

21 comments:

  1. BEST ending ever! You started my week with a laugh.

    ReplyDelete
  2. LOL!!!!! Thank you for the hilarities!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You are so welcome, Jenny! Thank you for thinking they're hilarious! :)

      Delete
  3. Not even an Old English ! Very funny. Once again I am wowed by your many talents!!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hi Diane - your comment addressed to Joan at my blog was actually on Yorkshire Pudding's poem. I didn't publish it yet; do you want to leave a corrected version instead?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Just leave another comment as a reply to Yorkshire Pudding; I'll let it go through moderation. I'll delete your first one that is sitting in moderation.

      And Joan has posted her poem now, too!

      Delete
  5. True story: A city slicker visited me when my tiny town had their pet parade. "That's a strange looking doberman," city slicker proclaimed. "That's a goat," a blurted and laughed. I supposed I should have been more diplomatic. Oh well.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Big smiles. Accountants are necessary evils. Farmers are just necessary. Essential even.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Ha Ha, "put down my dog"
    At first I thought maybe the city slicker was mistakenly counting cows thinking they were sheep..

    ReplyDelete
  8. Just what city slicker deserved...bow tie, indeed. No one walks about our farms in anything but outsize clogs and an ancient flat cap, even the accountant.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Not expecting the end to this poem. Love starting day with a laugh. Thanks! Weekends In Maine

    ReplyDelete

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